


A Little Sugar

by PumpkinDoodles



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Sugar Daddy Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-08-10 05:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 38,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: It was an accident, really. Darcy was just trying to blend in at her new SHIELD job and awkwardly negotiate office life without Jane, currently off in space with Thor. But she just happened to overhear one of the techs dissing sex workers and, well, she had a brief spell of righteous indignation. Call it A Jane Moment.In the Jane Foster Scale of Feminist Rants, it was probably only a three. She didn't slap anybody, after all. No cops were called. There wasn't an office sit-in or a subsequent op-ed. She just didn't expect someone to offer to be her sugar daddy.





	1. Trying Not To Be The Office Weirdo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Britt1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britt1975/gifts).

> I own nothing!

“Yeah, I’ll pass that on,” Darcy said, hanging up the phone in SHIELD’s cubicle farm. She was doing admin work with Jane off-world. She retrieved the file for the report she’d just forwarded to one division and forwarded it to the next. That seemed to be her job. It was boring, but she was scrimping by, living in Jane’s old apartment and slowly paying off her student loans. She resented her body for having dramamine-resistant,  _ Rosemary’s Baby  _ levels of space sickness. She could be in space now, instead of this tiny cubbyhole in SHIELD’s newer, blander headquarters. Darcy was sad. Part of it was that she hadn’t made any friends yet. She really, really, really missed Jane. They emailed daily, but living by yourself after years of never being alone was weird. Making friends in your thirties was difficult, too. She went to the break room, shuffling up with a sigh, for more coffee. Darcy felt old. It sucked to feel old, lonely, and basically unnoticed. Also, nobody here seemed to laugh at her jokes and someone had actually side-eyed her custom-made Bearded! Captain Steve Funko Pop from Etsy. The what the fuck? vibe was strong at rebuilding SHIELD. 

Darcy was refilling the single-serve machine with her own plastic, reusable k-cup thingy when she happened to hear one of the analysts being obnoxious. “Look,” he was saying, “I’m just not convinced about this whole sex worker thing, like why should that be legal? And why aren’t all these feminists mad about it?” He snickered. He was clearly trying to impress the tougher-looking guys sitting around the table, all of whom were part of one of the elite STRIKE units.  _ I will be quiet, I will not go off,  _ Darcy scolded herself. It was her third week. She’d be the office weirdo if she channeled Jane for a feminist rant. SHIELD wasn’t all that politically evolved, not the way universities sometimes were. She internally cursed her commitment to her favorite vanilla bean coffee. If she just used regular, throwaway coffee pods like everyone else, she wouldn’t be a captive audience for this schmuckdoodle, she thought, as she waited for her coffee to brew. Damn her combined cheapness and concern for the environment. He kept talking, waving his arms expressively. Finally, she had to say something.

“Excuse me,” Darcy said. “Has it escaped your notice that all forms of labor are  _ selling your body for money?”  _ she said, doing air quotes. “You think coal mining isn’t? Waiting tables?”

“Wh--what?” he said, seeming to see her for the first time.

“Legalized safer sex work might actually be less harmful to your body and future than the majority of minimum wage jobs,” she said, warming to her theme. “I don’t know about you, but my ankles never quite recovered from the all the eight dollar an hour shifts I pulled in college working retail, but sex has never done me serious injury,” she added, snorting.

“So, you’d have sex for money?” the tech guy said, as if he’d won a point. His voice was smug.

“I’d consider it,” Darcy shot back. “I have student loans, it might be smart.” She glared at him, then realized her coffee was done. “It would certainly be nice to not have debt,” she said, screwing the lid on her travel mug. She swept out of the conference room while they all stared. 

People kept staring at her that afternoon. She was almost certain gossip was going around. “Shit,” she muttered to herself in the bathroom, when she’d seen two agents whispering. She came out and almost ran into a wall of muscle. “Uh--excuse me, sorry, Commander,” she said. It was one of the agents from the break room. Darcy knew him by sight and reputation. Commander Rumlow had been badly burned doing triple agent work within HYDRA, then posed as a mercenary called Crossbones to extra-legally get back lost Chitauri weapons and stuff. The left side of his face was lightly traced with soft pink scars, while the right was more deeply burned; his right ear had been mangled in the building collapse. But he was surprisingly approachable for a high-ranking SHIELD agent. He’d introduced himself and spoken to her several times. 

“Hey,” he said, looking at her coolly. His dark eyes stood out against the scarred skin of his face. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I didn’t do it,” Darcy said said, feeling a weird, nervous giggle bubble up in her chest. His serious expression was intimidating. For a second, she wondered if she’d meddled in the wrong files. He laughed.

“Sure you didn’t,” he said. “But I know about the DMV fraud, sweetheart.”

“You do?” Darcy said, grinning.

“Yeah,” he said. “I, uh, wanted to invite you to dinner since you’re new in town. Tonight, if you’re not busy?” He looked at her expectantly. Darcy’s brain reeled in surprise. Was he asking as a date? Or just a friend? He didn’t fully smile, just gave her a tiny smirk. 

“Okay,” she said. “I’m not busy.” She tried not to check his finger for a wedding band too obviously. No ring. Not that that meant anything, given his work. Rings were probably unsafe. “What kind of dinner, though?” she said, feeling some of her old sassiness return. It was something about his cryptic expression.

“Very casual,” he said. “Seven-thirty?”

“Friendly?” she bantered back. “I won’t be arrested for DMV fraud.”

“Well, I could never guarantee you won’t end up in a classified situation, but we can let that one go,” he said. “Statute of limitations has expired.” He handed her a card with an address written neatly on the back.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Seven-thirty.” She gave him a little wave and went back to her cubicle. She sent Jane a text about it.

_ Please don’t be murdered, I miss you too much,  _ Jane wrote back. Darcy gave her all the relevant details, in case they found her body in a ditch later. It was one of their safety protocols.

  
  


She was a smidge nervous when she got to the restaurant. He was there first, eyes locked on her when the hostess brought Darcy over. “Hi,” she said, trying to be chipper and breezily. “This place is fancy.” It was fancy, she thought. She hoped the bill wouldn’t be too bad. He looked at her with that weirdly cool, cryptic look again.

“Order whatever you like,” he said. “I invited you, I’m paying.”

“Oh, you don’t have to--” she began, but he waved her sentence away. The waiter came over. 

“Wine?” he said to her.

“Diet Coke,” Darcy said. “I’m driving.” He nodded. 

“Bottled water,” he said to the waiter. He looked at Darcy. “I’m on emergency call,” he said, “so I don’t drink.” She nodded. She was trying not to stare at him too much. “So,” he said. “I’m, uh, curious--”

“Curious?” Darcy said.

“Why aren’t you in space with Foster and Thor?” he asked.  _ Oh, he’s one of the Thor people, _ she thought.  _ People were curious about them. That explained the invitation. _

“I get sick in space,” she said. “Really york my guts up, non-stop. No medication seems to help.”

“That’s too bad,” he said. He rubbed his jaw. He had an attractive five o’clock shadow thing happening over the scars. 

“Yup,” she said. He smiled.

“Lucky for me, though,” he added. “I get to meet you.”

“Is that a cheesy pickup line?” Darcy asked. He scrunched his nose.

“Maybe,” he said. His expression grew somber. 

“What?” Darcy said, frowning in concern. “Look, I’m perfectly happy just to be a friend--”

“Were you being serious with Michaels today?” he asked.

“Who?” she said.

“I would like you to date me,” he said slowly. “And I would, uh, pay off your student loans and do nice things for you?” 


	2. My First Indecent Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“Is--this is for real?” she said quietly. Was it entrapment? She looked around. “Am I going to be arrested?”

“No, no,” he said, gesturing. “I’m not arresting you.” He chuckled and rubbed his jaw again. “With this face, it’s difficult to date. I can’t discuss my past or my job or explain how this happened to me, either. With you, I can.”

“Oh,” she said.

“So, you’ll consider it?” he said. Darcy blinked at him. She’d been thinking he’d want to know about lifting Mew-Mew, if this was a platonic dinner. Or maybe ask her to go to the movies, if it wasn’t. Her brain was reeling again. Darcy leaned forward to whisper.

“You want to be my sugar daddy?” she said. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he said. She stared at him. “You haven’t said no,” he said, after a long moment. 

“I have thirty-seven thousand dollars in student loans,” she said finally. That was too much for anyone to seriously offer to pay off, wasn’t it?

“Not a problem,” he said. He grinned. “That’s less than I thought.” 

“You’re kidding,” she said. He leaned forward. 

“Crossbones may or may not have received five percent of the value recovered for every SHIELD asset he retrieved,” he said wryly. 

“Whoa,” Darcy said.

“I’m not financially stupid,” he said. “I worked out a good deal for myself.”

“This seems a little crazy,” she told him. “Financially-speaking.” He looked like he was going to say something, then stopped.

“If you want to do this, send me the payoff amount for your stuff tonight, I’ll take care of it,” he said casually. 

“We haven’t even gotten food yet,” she said. “How do you know you even like me?” He shrugged.

“I know people,” Rumlow said. 

They were eating when Darcy looked at him. She’d had a thought. “What about the gift tax? You can’t pay off all of it at once, there’s taxes I’d have to pay,” she said.

“I’d be on the hook for the gift tax,” he said. “Not you.” He speared an asparagus next to his steak. “The gifter is responsible, not the giftee.” He smiled at her. 

“You do this often?” she said.

“I paid off my sister’s student loans first,” he said dryly. “Her bill at Columbia makes you look minor league, sweetheart.”

“Oh. That was good of you,” she said.

“And yet, she still asks me to babysit,” he said, grinning. Darcy smiled back in spite of herself. Dammit, she thought, he was funny. She liked funny people. Whenever he laughed, his scars crinkled in an interesting way. She was curious about how he moved around without attracting a lot of attention, but he seemed nonplussed by people’s stares. He just seemed not to see them and so they didn’t escalate into anything awkward. That was a helluva skill, she thought. Had she been burned, she would have probably stayed home and become agoraphobic. Instead, he was just out there living. And apparently, stealing back millions in SHIELD tech.

“What?” he said. 

“Um,” she said. Intelligently. “You’re not bothered when people stare?”

“Used to be,” he said. “I got over it.”

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“I’ve got a tough hide,” he said. She realized he was joking again when he smiled. He looked around the restaurant, then at her almost slyly out of the side of his face. “You frightened of me?” he asked.

“No,” she said stubbornly. He turned, raised an eyebrow. “I mean, yeah, you’re a little intimidating. You make murder face a lot,” she admitted. He laughed.

“I meant fucking me,” he said. He was looking at this plate, but his eyes moved back to her face. 

“Oh,” she said. “No.”

“You’re a little nervous,” he said.

“I am not,” she said, jutting her chin up. 

“No?” he said. 

“There’s nothing about you I’m nervous about,” she said. 

“That right?” he said. He tilted his head to the side with a skeptical expression. She grinned.

“That’s right,” she told him. This was true: the more she looked at him, the more the she noticed attractive things about him. The flecks of green in his deep set eyes. His low voice. The way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was thinking. His dark, shiny hair. The sharp, masculine line of his jaw. Watching him talk fascinated her. His gestures and his facial expressions were charged--as if his personality had fought its way through the scars to convey a full range of emotions.

Also, Darcy didn’t really want to admit that she hadn’t had sex in a year and a half. She’d gained weight since she’d last taken off her clothes in front of somebody new. A little weight. It wasn’t like twenty-five pounds was a lot, but he was probably fit. You had to be to be on a STRIKE unit. He ran one, which probably meant he trained other people in the art of being insanely in shape. She had a round belly with the consistency of soft bread, a little bit of a double chin she hid in selfies, and her GP had started making noises about her cholesterol and “moderate exercise.” Darcy hated anything that involved getting all sweaty. 

Well, not sex. 

She missed sex. She thought the lack of sex in her life and her weight gain might be related; sometimes, she felt downright invisible to most men. She realized he was staring now, expression unreadable. “What are you thinking?” he said. Darcy thought for a second. Was transparency better?

“I haven’t dated since my fiance and I broke up,” she said. 

“How long?” Rumlow said.

“More than a year,” she admitted. 

“Really?” he said. He looked surprised.

“Yeah. What if you have buyer’s remorse?” she joked. He laughed at that. "I'm, uh, wondering if you really know what you're getting," she added. 

“Bullshit,” he told her, gesturing with his fork. “Spill. What’s the real reason?”

“I’m having tiny, microscopic panic attacks over the idea of a STRIKE commander seeing me naked?” she offered. “I, uh, used to be thinner. And you’re in great shape.” He looked at her incredulously. 

“Tiny panic attacks, huh?” he said.

“You can’t see them, but they’re happening.” He chuckled. 

“You have a great sense of humor,” he said. “Which is better than being good-looking.”

“Gee, thanks,” she cut in.

“Which you also are,” he said. “Stunningly beautiful.” She didn’t know what to say to that. It felt like forever since someone had actually noticed her. “No response to that, huh?” he said. His voice was teasing.

“Shut up,” she told him, blushing. She was actually in trouble, she thought.

He’d talked her into dessert when he seemed to remember something. “Here,” he said suddenly. He reached into his jacket pocket and slid a box across the table. “I got you a present. For having dinner with me.”

“You just had jewelry?” she said, wondering if he’d approached a fitter, better-looking woman first. Sharon Carter, maybe?

“No,” he said. “Got it after work today. Seemed to fit you. You don’t wear big jewelry.”

“No,” she said. “Clashes with the glasses.” She tore off the silvery paper. The box inside was blue. “You’re really leaning into his whole sugar daddy thing, huh?” she said, pausing at the Tiffany shade.

“Something like that,” he said. He smirked. “Come on, open it.” Darcy had hesitated. Someone’s idea of a good gift might say a lot about them.

“You spent money,” she said. He’d done it without knowing if she’d say yes. She’d never had anything new or fancy from a boyfriend, not even Ian, who’d given her a dull-looking heirloom ring of brassy gold with a chip of a diamond and then taken it back again. She didn’t even like yellow gold. It looked harsh against her pale skin. Somehow, that had signified their whole relationship. Secondhand things she didn’t even especially like. 

“I might like having someone to spend money on,” he told her. Darcy--half dreading it would be some terrible, stuffy thing--opened it slowly. She burst out laughing. 

“It’s a lollipop necklace,” she said. “A lollipop! I should be insulted.”

“Are you?” he said. “I thought it might appeal to your sense of humor.”

“It’s cute,” she admitted. And funny. He’d brought the prospective sugar baby a fancy lollipop. That was when she realized there was no way in hell he’d bought it for anyone else. “I’m keeping it,” she announced. “Even if I kick you to the curb.” Rumlow’s smirk grew wider. 

“Good,” he said. She fiddled with the chain. “You want some help with that?” he asked. She nodded. His fingers were very careful as they pushed her hair aside to work the clasp. She repressed a little shiver when he stroked the back of her neck. “Cute mole, sweetheart,” he said in her ear. She had a tiny mole at the edge of her hairline. She looked over her shoulder at his face for a second. They had a moment of eye contact. 

At the end of the night, he walked her to her car. “So,” he said. “You want to give this some thought?” She looked at him.

“No,” she said. “Why don’t you follow me home tonight?”

“Tonight?” he repeated, grinning.

“I’m giving you an out, in case you have buyer’s remorse,” she said. “You can always back out tomorrow.” He laughed.

“That’s my line,” he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not make up the lollipop necklace: https://www.tiffany.com/jewelry/necklaces-pendants/lollipop-charm-and-chain-GRP06189/


	3. Please Have Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

Darcy got behind the wheel of her car and pulled out of the parking lot. She checked her mirror. He was following. _ Are you crazy? _half her brain screamed. _ This is how people get murdered! _ The other half of her brain was preoccupied. It wasn’t the jewelry or the student loans--as tempting as those were, she didn’t actually believe he’d really go through with it. Nobody had money like that, she told herself. He’d flake out later. But he had good hands and she was lonely. It would be depressing to go home to an empty apartment again.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked quietly, meeting her on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building. She thought she caught a flickering expression of doubt.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m figuring you’re not going to murder me, though,” she joked, “because Jane knows who I was out with tonight and Heimdall sees everything.”

“Heimdall?” he said, frowning. She gestured for him to follow her to her door. She was nervous. Talking made it easier.

“This dude who guards Asgard can see everything that happens here,” she explained.

“Everything?” he said.

“Oh, yes,” Darcy said. She looked at Rumlow. “Maybe I should ask him if you’re as good as you think you are--” she brazened out. His puzzled expression turned to a smirk. 

“You don’t need anybody for that,” he said, leaning in to kiss her. It was a good kiss. She liked the slick, unusual texture of his thumbs as he cupped her face, too. 

“No,” she whispered. She let him in her apartment.

“Oh, shit, oh shit,” she murmured, tearing through her dresser frantically. She’d left Rumlow in her living room with a drink. She knew she had some never worn negligee in here somewhere, but all she could find were comfy nightshirts and pajamas with cute slogans on them. She’d bought something for Ian and never worn it. It was like pink. Or red? “Where are you?” she muttered. “Ah ha!” The flimsy piece of fabric was pushed to back of the drawer. “Please don’t smell like old Craigslist dresser,” she added, sniffing. “Okay, you’re okay.” Then she had to get it on. It was a squeeze to get it over her head. Then her boobs. She wiggled and prayed the fabric wouldn’t rip. “Please have give, please have give,” she whispered to herself, adjusting a semi-squished boob. A memory of being told to hit things with give during driver’s ed bubbled to the surface of her brain. _ “Pedestrians have give!” _ one of her classmates had shouted. It made her giggle. She was getting hysterical and sex nervous, she thought. “Calm down, bitch,” she told herself. She’d done the math in the car: it was closer to two years since she’d slept with anybody. She looked at herself in the mirror. She felt ridiculous. But the red color looked nice against her skin.

“Hey,” he said, head jerking up when she appeared in the doorway. His expression shifted. He’d actually gone wide-eyed. Was that bad?

“Hi,” she said. “We should, uh, maybe talk about things?” 

“Things?” he said, as she walked---she was so nervous she could feel herself shake--and sat next to him on the couch.

“I’m on birth control, but I want you to wear a condom,” she said, trying to sound cool. She’d left a glass of wine for herself on the coffee table and sipped from it a little frantically.

“Yeah,” he said, “got it.” He pulled something out of his jacket pocket. Darcy frowned. 

“Those have the SHIELD logo on them?”

“I’ve been serumed,” he said. “You need, uh, specialty birth control after that. R&D makes ‘em for us.”

“Us?” she said.

“Me, some of the surviving HYDRA infiltrators, and I assume, Cap, if he sleeps with anybody.”

“How’d you figure that out?” she wondered.

“Rodriguez has six kids,” he said.

“And one wife?” Darcy asked, horrified at the thought of that much labor pain being inflicted on one poor uterus.

“One wife.” He smirked.

“Wow,” Darcy said. She stared at the condom box for a second.

“That’s kind of a mood killer, isn’t it?” he said, sounding sheepish. Darcy felt a giggle bubble up again.

“A little,” she said, looking back up at his face. 

“You look, uh, fantastic,” he said. His eyes had drifted down. Darcy followed his look. She was sort of spilling out all over the place. She would have cringed a little at the obvious roundness of her stomach, but she didn’t think he’d gotten that far. 

“Thank you,” she said. He seemed to yank his eyes back to her face. 

“Safe words?” he added. “If I do something you don’t like?” He licked his lips. 

“I don’t have one,” she admitted. Ian had never been that adventurous. 

“Just say red, I’ll stop,” he said, eyes pulled back to her body. 

“I think you should kiss me again,” she said. He nodded, set his glass down firmly, and pulled her into his lap.

She didn’t say red. Not when he kissed her so wildly she thought her lips might be bruised in the morning. Not when he scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom. Not when she heard the fabric start to rip when he lifted her negligee over her head. “Shit,” he said. ”Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she told him, kissing his scarred forearm out of wild impulse. He was the first one to stop.

“Red, red,” he said urgently. Her hands had been on the edges of his t-shirt. He was still dressed. “Lemme get the light, okay? I like it dark,” he said. She nodded. She understood; he wanted to undress away from the light. She didn’t mind. He undressed quickly. Also, it was exciting to fool around in the dark, his fingers surprising her, his mouth trailing down her neck and against her breasts. 

“Oh my God, your freaking tongue,” she said as he reached her belly button, then realized she’d said it out loud. Like a dork. She heard him laugh.

“You like that, huh?” he said. She could practically hear his smirk as he kissed her hips. 

“You know,” she said. “You’re very confident for a guy who just offered to pay me for sex?” He paused. Then crawled his way back up the bed to face her.

“Well, I figure when you tell me it’s been more than a year, the bar’s pretty fucking low, right? I just gotta show up, pay attention to you,” he said. She made a noise that was half-laughter, half-frustration, as he settled his weight on top of her. She shivered slightly at all the skin on skin contact. He was strong and heavy-limbed. “Good?” he asked, voice careful. His expression was unreadable in the dark. She nodded and then he kissed her again, this time sucking her top lip softly. Running her hands over his back, it dawned on Darcy that the raised burns scars were almost velvety, they were so slick and shiny. That was why his skin felt so different, whether it was the drag of skin on skin or the touch of his palms. It didn’t feel bad at all. It was strangely erotic. 

But she realized he was slower, more hesitant than he’d been before. She internally scolded herself for teasing him about the money. She needed to get him out of his boxers without freaking him out, she realized. “You’re so warm and you feel so good,” she said, fingers edging down to his scarred hips encouragingly. It wasn’t the most original line, but it might work. 

“Yeah?” he said. 

“You’re very soft skinned, for an extremely fit, very intimidating man,” she told him. He looked at her in the dark.

“You mean that?” he said seriously. A strand of his hair brushed against her forehead. 

“Yes,” she said, kissing his scarred jaw. The deep gouges made his stubble uneven and pleasantly irregular against her lips. She thought she could find something interesting about all of his body. “I’m so turned on,” she whispered.

“Can I put the condom on and take your glasses off?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah.” She could see well enough from the hall light to make sure he put on the condom, but once he’d gently taken her glasses off, she had no idea what she was seeing. She felt some of the tension leave his body, though, once everything was a dark blur. 

It felt amazing. His hands and mouth moved over her, sucking and caressing her breasts. She moaned. “You like that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice hot and low. He teased her about being her daddy until she was flushed and humming with desire. Finally, he turned her onto her belly. Softly scarred fingers explored the apex of her thighs. He dotted kisses along her back, holding her up while she whimpered. He had strong arms. 

“Oh God,” Darcy moaned. His fingers stroked her gently. “That feels--feels good,” Darcy said.

“You ready?” he said, once he’d teased her clit until she was practically frantic. He seemed to be drawing out the tension on purpose. She was almost dizzy with wanting him. She ached. 

“Yes, for God’s sake,” she moaned. “Stop, stop fucking with me and fuck me.” He laughed. 

“I wanna take my time,” he said. “You’re so fucking cute it kills me.”

“Uhh, that’s just mean,” she said. She felt his cock bump against her thigh and arched her back in response, yearning. He pulled back a fraction, chuckling. She swore. “Don’t tease me like this,” Darcy said, turning her head in the dark. Her knees were weak.

“But you’re being so good, baby,” he said. “So good for me.” He anchored a hand against her belly, then pushed into her. 


	4. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos! They're giving me life on this fic :)

She’d fallen asleep in his arms in the dark and then woke up to find him pulling on his boots. “You’re leaving?” Darcy said groggily. There was an edge of blue light coming through her blinds.

“Gym,” he said. “Every morning at five.”

“Ugh, no, stay with me,” she grumbled. She tugged at his waist. “Snuggles and sex?”

“Later tonight,” Rumlow said, chuckling. “Come lock the door behind me?” He half turned his head to look at her. “You pouting?” he teased.

“No,” she said, resolutely refusing to admit it. She got up, put on a robe, and followed him out. “You want coffee?” she offered.

“I’ll pick some up, I’ve got a place,” he said, infuriatingly calm and self-contained. He grinned at her. “Send me the loan information, I’ll pay ‘em off today.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She was vaguely confused by everything. He leaned in and kissed her. She found herself clinging to him a little. She wasn’t a clinger, she didn’t cling. What was happening? He gave her an ambiguous look.

“I’ll see you at work,” he said. “We can go to lunch.” She nodded. He kissed her nose and disappeared into the parking lot.

Darcy got back in bed and then--because she couldn’t quite get as comfy as she was snuggled up against him--doubled up her blankets, trying to replicate the warmth of his body heat. She didn’t fall back asleep immediately. Normally, she’d have no trouble sleeping at five in the morning. “Why can’t I sleep?” she asked the ceiling. She decided to send an email to Jane. She tapped out the night’s events in a long, semi-detailed email. That made her feel more tired. She closed her eyes. Darcy was sleeping when her phone woke her up again. “Mhello?” she said drowsily. There was strange static on the line.

“What are you thinking, Darcy?” Jane’s voice said tinnily. She sounded like she was going through a tunnel.

“What?” Darcy said. “Jane? You got a space phone--”

“Stop trying to distract me. I leave you alone for”--the line went staticky-- “and you go to dinner with a jackbooted thug”--static--“_ bedded in HYDRA?” _

“Uh-oh,” Darcy said. “It’s really not like that--” Jane cut her off.

“Be quiet, I’m not done”--static--“booted thug offers to be your _ sugar daddy _”--static--”gives you an insulting candy-themed necklace”-- a long wave of crackle and static--”you barely know and you go to bed with him?” Jane shrieked distantly. Space sounded like being in the bottom of a well. A well made of tin. “Do I need to come back and stage”--static--”vention?” Jane said.

“An intervention?” Darcy guessed wildly. “No, no, we’re fine. He’s not murdery, he’s at the gym!” 

“Oh God,” Jane said. There was another wave of crackling.

“I can’t hear you!” Darcy said. “Send me an email!”

“I--wi--” Jane began, before the line cut out. Darcy’s phone beeped. Dropped call.

“Whoops,” she said out loud. Jane could play overprotective big sister later, she thought sleepily. Her alarm wouldn’t go off for another thirty-seven minutes. She snuggled down into the bed. Her pillow still smelled faintly of Brock’s hair products. It was a nice smell. She liked it.

*** 

“You’re really doing this?” Jack said to Brock. They were jogging side by side on treadmills at SHIELD's gym. He frowned at his former boss. He ran STRIKE Bravo now, but he and Brock frequently co-ran field agent training courses and exercised together. Jack worried about Brock: he was as professionally adept as ever, but more cryptic and withdrawn since Triskelion. Jack knew he stayed home, rather than go out with the team. He’d tried to encourage Brock to make a change. That had backfired dramatically: when he’d confessed some bloody plan to bribe a girl in admin to sleep with him, Jack’s worries had become incredibly specific. He feared that some opportunist would see Brock as an easy mark, bleed him dry financially, and leave him in worse shape than before.

“Yeah,” Brock said, ramping up the incline. He grinned.

“What?” Jack said.

“I think she actually likes me,” Brock said. “What’s the name of that French place your last boyfriend liked?”

”Bistrot du Coin.”

“I gotta write that down, my French is shit,” Brock said. He stopped the treadmill and patted his pockets. “No pen. Remind me again later, huh?”

“Mate, I worry about this,” Jack said, trying to find the right way to phrase, _ ‘don’t let some bloody golddigger woman break your heart,’ _inoffensively. He couldn’t keep the note of doubt out of his voice. 

“You worry too much,” Brock said. “She didn’t want me to leave his morning.” 

“This morning?” Jack added. Brock restarted his treadmill.

“Spent the night last night.” _ Well, _ Jack thought, _ she didn’t waste any time. What kind of woman agrees to that? _The thought nagged at him.

“What’s this girl’s name again?” Jack said. Brock laughed. 

“You get more Australian when you’re suspicious,” Brock said. He mocked his hard g accent. “This _ gel’s _name is Darcy Lewis.”

“I do worry, mate,” Jack said. He was afraid to say anything more. 

Midway through the day, Jack counterfeited an errand and went downstairs. Sharon Carter looked up at him curiously when he loped over to her desk in long strides. “Do you want something, Rollins?” she asked.

“Can I get Darcy Lewis’s file?” he asked quietly. 

“Why?” Her gaze was savvy.

“She’s seeing Brock, I thought it might be useful,” he said.

“You’re checking up on her,” Sharon said. 

“Wouldn’t you?” he pointed out. Sharon nodded and started tapping keys. She hadn’t been chosen as Agent 13 because she was too trusting. She moved a copy of the file to a STRIKE dropbox for Rollins’ use.

“She seems pretty harmless, other than that she tased Thor,” Sharon said. She’d met Darcy Lewis in passing. Didn’t really seem like Rumlow’s type.

“What?” Jack said.

“When he landed on them in the desert, she thought he was a drunk and zapped him,” Sharon said, grinning. “Also, she’s cute.” Shortly after her relationship with Cap had fizzled, Sharon had gone out on a date with a female agent in Germany. That had cleared up a lot for her. Now she and Maria Hill were seeing each other. Jack came around and peered at the photo on the screen. A dark-haired young woman in glasses looked back at him. Pretty enough, he thought, but nothing spectacular. Not a femme fatale like Romanoff. He was walking back to his office when he realized he was going directly past her desk. Darcy Lewis was sitting there, typing away, with a pair of purple earbuds in. He thought she looked pretty similar to the file photo: only her hair was longer and she’d gained some weight. Her chin was softly rounded in profile. In person, he thought, she might actually be a little frumpy-looking, what with her shapeless clothes, glasses, and pale skin. She peered at him as he walked by, trying to be subtle. He almost stopped. There were actual kids toys on her desk. Jack was flummoxed. This was who Brock was crazy about? Enough to give her money? Maybe you had to be attracted to women to see the appeal. He was standing where he could see her through a glass panel when someone cleared their throat. He turned. Brock was standing at his elbow, gaze cool. He tilted his head, then looked from Jack to his sightline at Darcy Lewis's desk. 

“Jack,” he said. “Haven't I told you that you worry too much?” His voice was warning. Jack stuttered out a reply.

***

Darcy was waiting for Brock to come get her for lunch. She had been nervous all day. There had been a string of dramatic, alarmed emails from Jane (she was slightly worried that Thor would land on the roof at any moment). Darcy checked her phone clock and messages again. She’d forgotten to ask when he took lunch. That was sort of a crucial detail for lunch dates. She toyed with her lollipop necklace, then looked over when there was motion in her peripheral vision. Brock had showed up. She felt a wave of relief blended with excitement. He was talking to that agent who’d been looking at her Cap Funko funny a few minutes ago. The one with even more serious Resting Murder Face. She tried to inconspicuously watch them, then felt herself start to grin when Brock walked towards her. He was smiling. “Hi,” she said, then cringed inwardly at how goofy she sounded.

“Hey,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. That answered her unspoken question about whether or not he’d want to tell people at work. When he pulled back, his head turned slightly. He smirked. “Is this Cap?” he said.

“Yeah,” Darcy admitted. “I didn’t actually know Steve when I ordered him, though.” Brock reached over and bopped the Funko on the head. Little bearded Steve wobbled. Brock chuckled.

“I just think he’s cute with the beard, not without,” Darcy insisted, standing up to go with him and sliding her bag over her shoulder.

“Traitor,” he teased her, untwisting the strap on her messenger bag gently.

“You laugh, but someone on Etsy would make me a Crossbones one,” she threatened.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Don’t tell me things like that.”

At lunch, he kept smiling at her. “What?” Darcy said, afraid she had, like, butter on her mouth. Something embarrassing.

“You wore your necklace,” he said. 

“Of course,” she said. “It’s cute, I like it.” She reached up to touch the necklace involuntarily. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” he asked. He leaned in, smirking. “Before the sex, I mean,” he added. “I know you put in a request already.” She grinned back at him.

“Ummm,” Darcy said. She liked being at her apartment. She assumed he did, too. If they stayed in, they could spend more time in bed. “What about Chinese? Do you eat Chinese food?” she said. She’d spent so much time overseas with Jane, Americanized Chinese food still counted as a treat. But he was probably a no MSG person?

“Chinese?” he said. “I like it fine, I just thought you might want to go somewhere fancier?” 

“Nah,” Darcy said, shaking her head. He shook his head. “What?” she said. 

“At least let me take you somewhere,” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “If you want to?”


	5. This Feels Like A Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! The comments have been so great on this story! *sends you all big hugs of appreciation!*

She hurried home from work that night to get ready for their date. Darcy was shampooing her hair and thinking. About Brock. She was crazy about him. Crazy enough to agree to his crazy scheme, if that was what he wanted. Buying her jewelry and paying off her loans? It seemed at odds with her cubicle life. A fantasy. She wasn’t Liz Taylor or something. She’d gone as Cleopatra for Halloween once, but that was a close as she got to being a glamorous person. Well, that and her boobs. A vague memory of one of those TV interviews surfaced in her brain. One of Taylor’s many husbands saying it was her delight at gifts that made him buy her things. Did Brock want that? For her to be delighted? She puzzled over it, then realized she couldn’t remember if she’d conditioned her hair yet. “Dammit,” she muttered. She put more conditioner in her hand. She’d never really wanted to be fancy all that intensely. She wanted him, though. 

She was thumbing through her closet--he was going to be there any minute--when she remembered that she had a cute dress somewhere in the back. She got it, then looked at the dark blue color. “I hope you fit,” she said.

  
  


***

Brock picked her up for dinner very early that night. He’d mentioned they were going somewhere nice. She answered the door barefoot. He raked his eyes from her ankles to her face.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m struggling with shoes. I’ve never worn this before. How warm is it out there?” She was wearing a little dress. It clung to every curve. He had to pry his eyes back up her face.

“Warmer in here,” he said, swallowing. “Good dress.”

“You like it?” she said. She beamed at him. 

“Yeah,” he said. He reached for her instinctively, pulling her close. They were kissing when she pulled back a fraction.

“We could stay here,” she whispered. “Stay in.”

“No, I promised you a good night,” he said. “Go find shoes before I’m tempted.” She groaned. 

“We have different definitions of a good night,” she said, turning back and flicking her hair airily. He grinned. “Where are we going?” she called out.

“A really good restaurant, but it’s a bit of a drive, baby,” he said.

“A drive?” she said, emerging from the bedroom. She was wearing his necklace. 

“Yeah,” he said. He smiled. 

“You didn’t say an hour and a half, one way!” Darcy said, once they were in the car.

“It’s the only three star Michelin restaurant in the DC area,” he said. “The Inn at Little Washington is famous,” he added. 

“Three hours of travel,” she muttered.

“What was that?” he said.

“Do you know how much sex we could have in three hours?” she said. He started to laugh and flicked on his blinker. 

“I’m turning the car around,” he said dryly. 

“Oh, thank God,” Darcy said. “Did you really think I care about fancy restaurants? You’ve seen where I live!”

“And your mismatched sheets,” he said. “Did you want new sheets? With an actual thread count?”

“Excuse me, jersey sheets are comfy,” she told him. He smirked. 

“Clearly, I’m the one bringing all the class to this relationship,” he said. She looked at him seriously.

“One hundred percent,” she said. “Even your hair stuff smells nicer than mine.” He laughed. 

They ended up having dinner at Thai place in a strip mall. “This is where you want to go?” he said, incredulous.

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Cameron Klein told me it was good.”

“Well, if Klein says so,” he said wryly. He’d expected her to jump at the opportunity to have dinner somewhere fancy. Brock had been imagining spoiling her a little more, maybe getting to brag about it. He was perplexed. He was beginning to realize something had been lost in translation. And she’d yet to let him pay off her loans. Every time he brought it up, she dodged. He was going to make a call tomorrow. 

“I sense your sarcasm,” she said. But she grinned so happily at him across the table that he felt his heart lurch. 

“What?” he said.

“Maybe the old people are right,” she said. “Eating dinner early is a great idea.”

“Why?” he said.

“We’ve got all this makeout time I can make you cash in,” she said. 

“You really can ask me for more,” he said later, as she nuzzled him.They were fooling around on her couch while she watched Shark Week, of all the fucking things. She’d dragged him back there, refusing to go shopping with him. Now she was kissing him in her pajamas.

“Hmm?” she said, looking up and then reflexively closed her eyes at something onscreen with a tiny squeal of alarm.

“Why do you watch this if it bothers you?” he said curiously.

“I dunno, it’s like I’m scared, but I’m also fascinated,” she said, peeking out from around her hand. “Has it eaten the seal yet?”

“Yeah,” he said. “What if I take you to Tiffany’s?”

“You just bought me a necklace!” she said. 

“It wasn’t a big thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Do we need to look up the definition of sugar daddy together?”

“About that,” Darcy said. She fiddled nervously with his shirt collar.

“What?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t pay off all my loans at once--”

“Darcy,” he said. “Let me do a nice thing for you.”

“I feel guilty about the money.”

“What money?” he grumbled. “You’ve argued with me over paying for lunch--”

“You paid for my dinner and we’re using your cable login for Shark Week,” she said. “And you bought me that book after lunch this week!” Her expression was intent. He started to laugh. 

“You insisted I use your bookstore coupon,” he said. “You’re doing this all wrong.”

“I sense you’re mocking me,” she said, then her eyes went wide at something onscreen. He watched the play of expressions across her face. She seemed to actually like him. That had been a surprise. He hadn’t anticipated being genuinely liked to this degree. Well enough for strip mall restaurants and cuddling on her couch. And he wanted to do something for her even more now. He’d been imagining seeing her face when he got her something really nice.

“What do you want that I could give you?” he said quietly. 

“Nothing we could get in a store,” Darcy said. “Not without getting arrested for indecency.” She grinned at him. 

“I’m serious,” he said, smiling at her response.

“Me, too. Wine?” she said. She giggled. “You could get me more wine.”

“Seriously,” he said. “Let me spoil you, huh?”

“You want to spoil me?” she said.

“I might be a little disappointed that you won’t let me spoil you,” he said. She frowned.

“Is that part of the fun for you?” she asked. She seemed to be studying his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

“All right,” she said. She reached for something--her phone. He watched her type something. “This is my student loan information,” she said. “Thirty-seven thousand, six-hundred and twenty two dollars.”

Five minutes later, her payoff was pending and he was carrying her over his shoulder as she shrieked. He flicked off the light in her bedroom and set her on the bed in the dark. She clung to his neck, kissing his jaw. “Brock Rumlow,” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes, _mammina?”_ he said.

“You’re going to wreck me,” she said.

“I’m going to try,” he said, lifting her shirt away. He was more relaxed this time, unafraid that she would find his skin horrifying. She seemed to respond to him just as willingly as anyone had before he was burned---it was a sweet relief to forget his self-consciousness as he pried down her pajama pants. Her fingers raked through his hair. She giggled.

“What did you call me just then?” she asked.

“Little mama,” he said, smirking in the dark. He kissed her. 

“Oh my God!” she said, laughing, as he kissed down her belly.

“What?” he said. He couldn’t read her expression. 

“I don’t have student debt!” she said. “I thought I’d be dead first.”

“What do you want to do to celebrate?” he said.

“Oh, this feels like a party,” she said. “A real party. Oooooh.” She started to laugh joyously. “That tickles, damn you.” His stubble had brushed against her thighs. He felt her wiggle underneath him, her thigh muscles tightening with his movements. He pressed his tongue against her clit, circling gently. He heard her moaning and stuttering out his name and smirked. He liked how she tasted, musky and intense. Darcy thrashed a little against him, whimpering. Brock increased the pressure of his tongue against her until he felt her jerk with orgasm. She’d made a little noise.

She tugged at his hair and he grinned up at her. “You can’t handle this?” Brock asked.

“Nuh-uh,” she said, shaking her head as he kissed up her belly. When they were face to face again, he realized that she was breathing rapidly.

“You okay?” he said. 

“No--but yes,” she told him. “I want you. I want you without the money.”

“I know,” he said. “But let me.” She nodded.


	6. Hands Don't Lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“Leaving me?” she said sleepily, when he was up at dawn. “It’s Saturday.”

“Just gonna get in some boxing time with Rollins, sweetheart,” he said. “You sleep late and I’ll take you shopping, okay?”

“Really?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I want to. Can we do some things I want?”

“Sure,” she said, getting up to lock the door behind him. He eyed her as she put on a robe. He could look at her all day. “I should probably make you a”--she yawned--”a housekey.”

“You’d give me a key?” he said.

“Of course,” she said. He gave her a soft look.

“That’s terrible security,” he said. 

“But you have such a cute booty,” she said, shuffling behind him into the living room. He looked back at her.

“Maybe I should take you to an eye doctor,” he said dryly.

“Nuh-uh, I squeezed that like it was fruit. Hands don’t lie,” she insisted, wrapping her arms around his waist. She rested her face between his shoulder blades for a minute. “I’ll let you go in a second, but I need a snuggle fix, Mr. Muscles.” 

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, rubbing her arms. She was squeezing his waist from behind.

“Can I have your whereabouts?” she asked. “Just in case I need you?” He gave her the name of his gym. 

  
***

“So,” Jack said. “You paid off this woman’s student loans?” They were circling each other on the training floor. He’d used a tone when he said the phrase “this woman.” Brock resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Their shoes squeaked as they moved. _ Squeak-thwack-squeak-thwack. _

“Yeah,” Brock said, thumping Jack’s boxing pads with a little more force than necessary. Jack was getting on his nerves. 

“You don’t think you’re being used?” Jack said.

“Nope,” Brock said brusquely. 

“Mate,” Jack began.

“I will fucking hit you for real,” Brock said. 

“I’m only concerned,” Jack grumbled, dodging a blow and moving backwards. _ Thwack. Squeak. _ “There’s no need to be all pissed off like a bloody kangaroo,” he complained, as Brock ramped up the force behind his blows. _ Thwack. Squeak.Thwack. _ They were still bickering thirty minutes later, when someone came to find them.

“Your girlfriend’s here, Mr. Rumlow,” the front desk person said. 

“Really?” Brock said, flicking a towel over his shoulder. Jack followed him. She was sitting on a weight bench, chatting with one of the female boxers. 

“How hard do you hit?” she was saying, before she caught sight of Brock. “Hey, babe!” she called. She beamed at him. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

Jack realized Brock had lit up a little; it was subtle, but he could tell. “Surprise!” she said. “I thought I’d just show up here and drag you away from all this cardiovascular stuff and make you take me someplace utterly unhealthy or frivolous.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brock said. “I’d hug you, but I’m all sweaty, lemme jump in the shower. This is Rollins. Jack, play nice.” Brock shot him a stern look, then sprinted to the showers.

Jack looked at her skeptically. She was wearing leggings and a t-shirt that had the collar cut out in a deep v-shape to play up her cleavage. He realized she wasn’t as frumpy as he’d first imagined, just extraordinarily curvy. Also, she was wearing more makeup. Bright red lipstick.

“Hi,” Darcy said, holding her hand out. “Darcy Lewis.” Her fingernails were covered in purple glitter polish. He looked down. The glitter was accompanied by little red hearts.

“So, you and Brock are, uh, seeing each other?” he said politely.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s new.” She looked at him. He realized her expression was canny. “So,” she said. “How do you feel about my Captain America Funko Pop, Agent Rollins?” She’d caught him looking, Jack realized. He swallowed.

“I thought that’s who it was. Where’d you get ‘im?” he asked.

“Oh, he was a custom order,” she said cheerfully. Her red lips curved into a smile. “I might see if the shop will make me a Crossbones one, too. Do you have any good photos of Brock’s old fake-mercenary outfit?” Darcy asked. Jack almost choked on his bottled water. Brock had extra-legally stolen stuff back from HYDRA for Fury when he was pretending to be a deranged, violent merc called Crossbones.

“I might,” he admitted slowly. “Give me a bit.”

“Okey-dokey,” she said. “I’d need clear detail for the tiny uniform.” 

“Yeah. Right-o,” he said.

  
***

“You realize Jack hates me, right?” Darcy told Brock as they crossed the parking lot a few minutes later.

“What?” he said. “No. How could he hate you?”

“He’s probably just feeling territorial,” she said. “You can drive.” She tossed him her car keys. They were picking up his car later. 

“What?” Brock said, frowning behind his aviators. He looked at her keys and back at her.

“Because he’s your partner and I’m taking away some time and attention--” Darcy began, but Brock cut her off.

“Just ‘cause he likes men, that don’t mean he’s jealous or something.”

“Please, have you seen you?” Darcy said. Brock snorted in response. “He’s jealous. He’s been guarding your cute booty for years and here I am, putting my hands all over it, maybe breaking your heart or something,” she added. Darcy giggled. Brock shook his head.

“Where do you get these ideas?” he said.

“You just wait, Brock Rumlow, you’ll see,” she said, nodding.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“Those sunglasses are hot, by the way,” Darcy said, sliding into the car. She leaned over and kissed his scarred cheek. “Where we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “I love surprises.”

“That, right?” he said, nuzzling her. They made out in the car for a few minutes before he detached her, laughing. “I thought you didn’t want to be arrested for public indecency?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t_ want _to, just that it might eventually happen, if you kept asking me what I want in public,” she said. “I got lipstick all over you. I need a wet wipe, hold on.” She dug around in her purse, took one out and then dabbed at his face, scrunching her nose in concentration. He raised an eyebrow at her. 

“You done?” he said. “Cause you’ve got a little--” he tapped her face. 

“Oh, damn,” she muttered. “This is the cost I pay for hating the way long wear lipstick dries like paint.” He laughed. 

He took her for brunch. “You like brunch?” she said when they were seated. He shrugged.

“I can have an omelet and it suits my purposes,” Brock told her. 

“What?” she said.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked. “Champagne?”

“Oooooh, day drinking?” Darcy said, smiling.

“Yeah,” he said cryptically. “That’s part of my plan.” 

“What’s your plan?” she asked, before a waiter came over. He waved away her question. She ordered almond champagne. She liked almond champagne. “You’re not going to tell me the plan?” Darcy said, once she’d gotten her champagne and a plate of waffles. He leaned forward, grinning.

“The plan is to get you tipsy enough that you’ll let me spend money on you,” he said wryly. “We’re going to start with the selfish one.” Darcy looked at him quizzically.

“Selfish one?”

“I’m replacing your lingerie,” he said. 

“Ahhh!” she said. “You can’t feed me waffles and then have me try on underwear,” she told him. “That’s like, a hate crime against my belly squish!” He threw his head back and laughed.

“You need to get over that,” he said. He leaned in and looked at her. He was making a sexy face, she realized, feeling herself flush all over. “You’ve got an amazing body,” he said.

“That--that face is an accessory to my future public indecency charge,” she said, picking up her glass. He made her feel all fluttery. 

“Are you hiding your face behind the champagne flute?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she said. 

“Okay, changing subject,” he said. But then he laughed again. “I’ve never met anybody like you. Nobody else is afraid to let me buy ‘em things.”

“Nobody else who?” Darcy said, wildly curious.

“My mother, my sister, about six cousins,” he said. “When you get money, you find out about a lot of cousins,” he joked.

“Like a lotto winner?” she said.

“Exactly,” he said, nodding and grinning. “I’ve invested in two restaurants, an auto shop, and a thing that’s sort of like a Sham Wow, only not successful,” he told her. 

“You don’t mind?” Darcy said. 

“Nah,” he said. “Cousin Pete does a pretty good meatball, my other cousin has to fix my mother’s car for free, and I’ve got a closet full of those little mop things.” His expression was so cheerful, Darcy burst out laughing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh,” she said.

“That’s all right,” he said. “My apartment’s very clean.” He ate some of his omelet. Darcy looked up at him, smiling. Her face was starting to hurt, she’d been smiling so much. “You want a mop, sweetheart?” he said.

“Not if I have to clean!” she said. He smirked.

“I can tell this plan is working. Finish your waffle,” he said.


	7. The Element of Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! I love all y'all's comments on this story. You're amazing!

“Ahhh,” Darcy said, inside the changing room at the first place he brought her. She was trying on a chemise thing.

“Something wrong?” Brock said. He’d stationed himself in a chair just outside. She stuck her head out.

“This is approximately three inches of fabric and a one-hundred and twenty dollars,” she said, making a face. He tilted his head.

“I like that color,” he said, licking his lips. “How do you feel about the color?”

“It’s okay,” she said. She lowered her voice. The shop owner was hovering and Darcy didn’t like her much. She’d been pushing Darcy--in a bossy way--towards the underwire bras. She loathed underwire. Why would you ever when wire-free bras existed? And they weren’t here for that, but that seemed to be what the store carried. Plus, Darcy had caught the owner side-eying Brock until she saw his credit card and that pissed her off. “I don’t like this place,” she whispered. “They’ve got no selection and it’s snooty.” He grinned at her. 

“You wanna go somewhere else?” he said. “I can Google some other places?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, nodding firmly. “I just need to get my leggings back on without falling,” she said, shutting the door. “There’s only a little triangle in the corner to sit on. Don’t brag to me that you carry bra sizes all the way up to J when the fitting room is meant for A cup asses,” she muttered. She heard Brock start to laugh outside.

The next place they went had a much better selection of lingerie, mostly because it was a fancy sex shop in Arlington. That stunned her a little. The name was feminine and you could almost mistake it for a yoga studio from the outside, so the merchandise was a surprise. She wandered around, peering curiously at the books, toys, and some of the fetish-y things. She had no idea fancy carved paddles were a thing. “Insertion in what?” Darcy wondered, picking up a box of something small and baffling. She turned it over curiously. Which end was up, she thought?

“No idea,” Brock said. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Not the primary objective, sweetheart,” he said intensely. She’d got the feeling that all this stuff was making him want to take her home. He kept looking at her and smoldering. She was half-tempted to ask if he wanted to sign up for one of the store workshops, but she didn’t know if he was comfortable with couples’ massage or a sex toys class yet. They sounded fun, though.

“You’re very mission oriented today,” she said flirtatiously. 

“You just spent five minutes laughing at a unicorn-tailed butt plug,” he said dryly.

“Even if I wasn’t drunk, that would still be really funny,” she insisted, starting to drunk-giggle all over again. “Can I get it?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. She handed him one. He looked down at it, frowning. “Do you want to use it?” he asked. She’d never seen him look startled before.

“God, no, I’m going to give it to someone as a gag gift,” she said, going over to the lingerie. 

“Who?” he said.

“Either Jane or my mom,” she said. “Unless they have a galaxy one, that’s really more Jane.”

He was staring at her, open-mouthed, when she got a purple teddy off a rack. “Ooooh, I like this one. Isn’t this cute?” she asked him.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “Really cute.” He got more into her lingerie purchases. Darcy didn’t mind, either. At the register, she had an idea and went back for a blindfold. “What’s that for?” he asked.

“Me. I thought it might be more fun for you to leave the light on,” she said. He gave her an intense look and for a split-second she was afraid she’d misjudged or hurt his feelings, but then he pulled her into an embrace. She rested her cheek against his shoulder. He breathed slowly. “You okay?” she said, once his grip relaxed.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” he said, voice rough. 

“Okay,” she said, kissing the side of his jaw. 

“You’re so good for me,” he said quietly.

“Good,” she said.

“Have I mentioned you smell nice?” he said. “Can I buy you some more of that, whatever it is?”

“You want to support my Bath and Body habit?” she said, laughing. “Oh, that’s a serious miscalculation.”

“Why?”

“I have a serious bubble bath addiction and I stockpile Marshmallow Pumpkin Latte cream whenever I’m here in the fall,” she said. “Jane claims that I need a twelve-step for the candles, too.” He made a sound. For a second, Darcy worried he was upset, but then she realized the sound he was making was wry laughter.

"Let's get out of here," he said in a low voice.

He seemed to enjoy watching her try on several pieces of lingerie at home until he picked his favorite for the night. It turned out that Darcy enjoyed the blindfold, too. “Gah,” she said, eyes covered in the dark fabric. He’d slipped it over her and then slowly taken her last teddy off. “This was a good use of your money, babe,” she said. He was playfully dotting kisses all her body. It felt wonderful. 

“You think so?” he asked. His voice was teasing. 

“The whole element of surprise thing is underrated,” she said, wiggling. She arched her back and moaned. “It’s almost criminal.”

“You want me to press charges, _ mammina?” _ he said. She felt his weight shift onto her body. He was heavy against her. She was thrilled when his mouth brushed her cheek, then her chin.

“Yes,” she said, laughing happily. “I’ve never had this much fun with somebody in my whole life.” He paused. 

“You mean that?”

“Duh,” she said cheerfully. “I’m incapable of lying. My face always gives me away.” He chuckled.

“I’m trying not to feel sad for you,” he said.

“Hey!” she said. “Rude.” She blew a raspberry at him.

“That right, huh? Maybe I need to apologize for that,” he said. His voice was warm.

“Yes,” Darcy said, nodding firmly behind her blindfold. “I deserve multiple apologies.”

“I’ll give you multiples,” he said, leaning down to kiss her again. “Let’s get you on your knees to start, baby.” She sucked in a breath as he flipped her over. 

“Oh God,” Darcy moaned out, trembling with anticipation. She was waiting for his next move. He ran a scarred palm over her back, then down to her ass slowly.

“Hmmm.” He sighed.

“What?”

“How’d you squeeze an ass like fruit again, huh?” Brock asked her. 

“Ahhh, you’re going to kill me,” she muttered in frustration.

Darcy tried not to feel disappointed when he declined taking a bath with her afterwards. “Don’t go anywhere,” she told him. He must’ve gotten dressed in boxers and a t-shirt before he turned on her bedside lamp, because he had them on when he slid her blindfold off gently. “I’ll be upset if you wander off to hit things,” Darcy said. He laughed.

“All right, sweetheart. Go take your bath,” he said. 

She was up to her neck in bubbles when her phone rang. It was her mom, she saw. “Hi, Mom,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I’m calling you to vent. He’s helping Katie move. Can I vent?” her mother announced without preamble. 

“Sure,” Darcy said, repressing her sigh. Liz must be upset. Darcy could hear the stress in her voice. “What’s he done now?” she asked. She knew the culprit already. Horrible Harold must be at it again. He was Darcy’s new-ish stepfather and he was horrible, hence her and Jane’s nickname for him. 

“Today, he told me that I don’t know how to blanch vegetables properly,” her mother said.

“That asshole,” Darcy said. This was typical: Harold was never happy. He nitpicked everything, from her mom’s cooking to her taste in furniture. Darcy kicked herself for not asking Heimdall about him earlier. Her mother had met Harold when Darcy was in Europe with Jane. Her parents had spilt when Darcy was young--she was an only child--and her mother hadn’t dated much while she raised Darcy as a single, working mom. The two of them were close. Darcy had felt guilty for leaving her behind to follow Jane around the globe. Harold had seemed like a good thing for Liz. He looked good on paper: he seemed devoted, had a good job as a CPA, was older, and had a clean criminal record. She’d background checked him from Tromso. They’d gotten married before Darcy had been home enough to realize the real him was a total pain in the ass. 

“Also, Lauren wrote this thing about me on Facebook,” her mother said. Lauren was one of Harold’s three daughters. They were all around Darcy’s age and very into drama. She and Jane had often speculated that Harold probably withheld approval from them, too, and so they constantly fought with each other, announced they’d stopped speaking to their father, or stirred up drama around her mom. Last Christmas, Katie had begged Harold and Liz to spend Christmas at her house, then snubbed Darcy’s mother by not getting her a present. That was typical. It was exhausting, even from a distance.

“What did she say?” Darcy said. Really, she ought to have Thor hit these people with Mew-Mew, she thought, but her mother wanted to keep trying. Darcy could tell that she tried to make him happy. She was blanching the damn vegetables, after all. 

“You won’t believe this--” her mother began. Watching the Harold situation unfold had convinced Darcy that she did not want to marry Ian--if someone was lukewarm at the beginning, she’d realized, it might be all downhill from there. She’d thought about a nitpicky or mopey Ian with a kind of queasy horror. Darcy listened as her mom described the latest bit of drama. There were several, not just the asparagus. Darcy was thoroughly irritated with the whole Horrible Harold family by the time she hung up and got out of the tub. When she opened the door in her bathrobe, Brock looked up.

“Something wrong?” he said. He was watching CNN in her bed. He must’ve seen her frowning.

“Ughh,” she said, crawling under the covers with him. “It’s too obnoxious to bug you with. Family drama.” She looked at the TV. “I wish I could be as nice a person as Chris Cuomo.”

“What?” he said.

“He’s always really fair. I can’t do that,” she said. “I’m not a fair person. I want to, like, run over my mom’s new husband with a car. Maybe back up a few times.” Brock burst out laughing.

“That bad, huh?” he asked.

“I can’t even hear his voice without feeling this intense loathing of his gross, sexist old man self. Do you know anybody who does murders for hire?”

“It’s possible,” Brock said wryly. “I can get you a list---whatcha doing?”

“Getting naked and cuddling you,” she said, climbing out of her bathrobe. “It’s an excellent distraction.” She leaned into kiss him. Darcy wasn’t going to let anything ruin her good mood, she decided. Playfully, she nibbled at his lip and felt him smile. When she pulled back a fraction, he was looking at her seriously. 

“You don’t mind if I, uh, stay in this?” He must mean his clothes, Darcy thought. 

“Nope,” she said. “Don’t mind at all.”

***

Brock tried to sleep. Darcy was cuddled next to him, warm and soft. But something nagged at his mind. It was the way she’d described her stepfather as old and gross. Did she think he was old and gross, too? That was his biggest fear. That she found him secretly repellent. He didn’t think Darcy was counterfeiting her attraction to him.

He didn’t think so. 

He hoped not.

He’d fallen asleep when she woke him up with noisy, playful kisses on his neck and jaw. “Mhhhm?” he said, opening his eyes groggily.

“Hey, handsome,” she said. “You feel like eating? It’s only nine.” He half sat up. 

“I’ll take you somewhere,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Nuh-uh,” she said. “I ordered delivery.”

“You use my card?” he asked, rubbing his hair.

“Like I’m going into a sleeping man’s wallet?” she said. “What kind of woman do you think I am?” Her voice was teasing. Inwardly, he scolded himself for doubting her. It was his own insecurity talking. She’d done nothing to indicate that she viewed their relationship as primarily transactional. He caught himself smiling widely. 

“You don’t want to spend my money, do you? I’ll get you a card to use,” he said. “I been thinking about that already. You can use it for anything you want and I’ll pay it off.”

“Like food bucks?” she said, scrunching her nose. “That would be nice.”

“What?” he frowned.

“When I was in college, we had cards with a balance to use for food,” she said. “I miss that.” He started to laugh. “What?” Darcy said.

“I thought you’d buy expensive clothes,” he said. “Jewelry?”

“But I like food better,” she told him. She combed his hair back gently. “I do like your necklace, though. It’s just, uh, clothes shopping is so miserable. I just wear comfy leggings and don’t think about it most of the time. Getting drunk and buying lingerie with you in a sex shop is the most fun I’ve ever had buying clothes and seventy-five percent was just seeing your face when I came out of the dressing room.”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned into his kiss her. He’d been an idiot to doubt, he thought. When he pulled back, she was grinning and biting her bottom lip. “What was the other twenty-five?” he asked. The doorbell rang. “I’ll get that, you’re naked.”

“The butt plug, I’m still laughing about that,” she called, as he went to the door to meet the delivery person. Brock burst out laughing. 

“Do you like your cheese free?” Darcy asked. She’d ordered him a pizza with a lot of protein, red sauce, and no cheese.

“I do,” he said. “How’d you know?”

“I guessed,” she said, smiling brightly. They were eating pizza in bed when he had an idea.

“How do you feel about online shopping, sweetheart?” he said, smirking. He got up and retrieved the laptop from his bag.

“I’m generally a fan of anything I can do in my pajamas,” she said. “Including you.” He looked back at her and grinned.

“Good,” he said. “I’m going to do some searches and then you tell me if you like ‘em?”

“So, I just lie here and eat pizza crust while you pick fancy things for me?” Darcy said.

“Yup,” he said.

“Okey dokey,” she said. “I wanna see what you choose, babe. You’re in charge.” He smirked.

“I’m in charge, huh?”

“You are,” she said, sounding happy. Brock was looking at expensive things--he was contemplating diamond earrings--when he glanced over at Darcy. She’d moved from pizza to Reese’s Cups in bed. He thought it was cute. Her glittery fingernails were bright against her pale skin. And she was wearing his lollipop still. 

“You really like that, huh?” he said.

“Hmm?” she said, licking chocolate off her thumb.

“Your necklace?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling, “I do. It was like you knew me when you picked that out.” 

“Uh-huh,” he said. He’d thought it was funny. And she was funny. Not childish, he thought, but something else--playful. That was the word.

“You okay?” she said. She was looking at him in concern.

“You’re not a very formal person, huh?” he asked, grinning.

“Nope,” she said, scrunching her nose. “That never seemed fun to me. I want to have fun. Be fun.”

“You’re fun,” he told her, rubbing her thigh. He exited the window for the diamond earrings. Too stuffy, he decided.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, peering over. 

“Nuh-uh,” he said, hiding his laptop. “No looking, sweetheart.” She laughed at him. It lit up her whole face. He opened another window. 

“What are you doing now?” Darcy asked.

“Classified.” He set up something to have chocolates delivered to her at the office. That was her. Then he puzzled over what was the exact right gift.

“Don’t spend too much money, you’ve already spent a small fortune on me,” she said. He shook his head. Then he had a thought.

“How would you feel about a new car?”

“No!” she said. “Way too much money.” He grinned. Her expression turned thoughtful. 

“What?” he said.

“What about one of those little Fiats? They’re so cute, I love that pistachio green col--”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “They’re tin cans. I’m not putting you in a death trap in DC traffic.” She laughed.

“I _ knew _ you would say that,” she said, grinning slyly.

“You just set me up, huh?” Brock asked wryly. “Fine, I’m not buying you a car.”

“Fine by me,” she said. She paused. He realized there was something on her mind.

"You okay?"

“There’s one thing I want, whenever you’re ready?” she whispered.

“Yeah?” Brock said, smiling.

“I--um, can we--oh God,” she said, putting her hand over her eyes. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing?”

“Okay,” he said, looking at her speculatively. He kept his voice even.

“I want to touch you and do things with you, like a lot more things?” she said. She was grinning behind her hand. “But you set the timeline,” she added. “I don’t want to demand something before you’re ready--so you gotta tell me, okay?”

“So, what you’re saying is, I tell you when I want sexual flavors?” he asked, chuckling.

“Yes!” she said, moving her hand to point at the ceiling. Her voice was delighted. “That’s the word. That sounds way classier than what I was thinking.” She looked at him. “I’m so glad you asked me to dinner,” she said. “So glad. I was really lonely.” She blinked and he realized there were tears in her eyes. “Just always feeling by myself in this apartment, getting used to a new job and a new town, everyone I know being so far away. I just felt really...sad. A lot.”

“Hey, hey,” he said. “I was too. I was too.” He held her face in his hands. “We don’t have to be anymore.” She leaned into him. His stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah,” she said. “I should probably mention that I can get a little weird when my buzz wears off.” She sniffled and laughed. “Ugh, vulnerability sucks!”

"It's okay, baby," he told her.

He kept window shopping online and eventually she started to try to peek at his screen. “What are you doing?” he said. “No, no, no. Bad girl. Very bad girl.” He shut the screen, put the laptop on the nightstand, and turned off the light. 


	8. A List of Date Ideas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Thanks for all your lovely comments and kudos!

He woke up to the smell of brewing coffee. He’d slept late. The clock said eight-thirty. “Baby?” he called out.

“I’m making you breakfast!” she called back. He shuffled out to the kitchen, yawning.

“I can’t believe I slept so late. I haven’t slept this late in years,” he said. 

“This makes me terribly sad,” Darcy told him. “I’ve got scrambled eggs and bacon going,” she said, passing him a mug. He looked at it. “That’s a fox mug, ‘cause you’re foxy.” He laughed and poured his coffee. “I like mugs,” she added. He filed that away from future reference. She seemed to like things that were either casual or fun.

“You’re going to spoil me,” Brock said. 

“Maybe,” she said. “But it’s a two-way street pal.” She rubbed his back. 

“Lemme handle that,” he said, as the pan of bacon popped. “I don’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”

“Awwwww,” Darcy said. “What do you want to do today? Do you have plans?”

“My plan is to be where you are,” he said, smirking. She grinned.

“Yeah, but what are your favorite things?” Darcy asked. He flipped the bacon and puzzled. What were his favorite things?

“I go to the gym, I work, I see my doctors,” he said, shrugging. “We gotta get my car today, too.” She nodded. He’d forgotten last night.

“Okay, you’re really depressing me now,” she said. “What if we try some date things?”

“What kind of date things?” he said.

“We could make a list?” she offered. 

They started sketching out ideas after breakfast. “Museums?” Brock offered. She’d gotten her pens and was making some sort of potential date list-slash-map. He thought it was cute. She was cute. His entire fucking life was turning into a romcom, he realized, only he’d never heard of one where the guy had to be horrifically burned to snag the girl. 

“Very classy, I approve,” Darcy said. “Wine tasting?”

“Ditto,” he said. “And I’ve been a whiskey tasting, too. That’s fun.”

“Okay, going on the list,” she said. “I like stay at home stuff, too.”

“Stay at home stuff?” he asked.

“What about games?”

“Hmmm,” he said. “Like Monopoly or sex?”

“Both,” she said, grinning. “Hold on, I’ve got an idea. Sit right there.”

Twenty minutes later, they were precariously balanced on the floor. “So,” Brock said, face inches from her breasts, “you play Twister a lot?”

“Nope,” Darcy said, “but I make all the drunk Asgardians do it, so I can laugh at them---ahhh.” Brock had tickled her. That was when she lost her balance, shrieking, and dragged him down into the floor. They landed in a heap. She was wedged underneath him. “Whoops, sorry,” she joked.

“Don’t apologize to me, I got the better end of this deal,” he said, wiggling. She laughed.

“You’re too cute,” she said, grinning at him.

“I haven’t done this in years, but I think it’s a new favorite,” he told her, smirking and nuzzling her boobs.

“Oh, yeah?” Darcy said, giggling. “Wait until you see my blanket fort game, babe.”

“Blanket fort?” he asked, kissing her again. A discussion of proper fort construction turned into Googling, which turned into an outing. He made sure to kiss her between searches.

“Where are we going?” Darcy said, when he finally asked if she wanted to get dressed.

“I’m going to make you one of these,” he said, pointing to an image on his phone. “If you like staying home, we’ll do that.”

“You’re very into this idea, aren’t you?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I want to do this for you.”

“Where are we going? I’ll bring my coupon folder,” she said seriously. He snorted. 

“Jesus Christ,” he said.

***

He took her to one of those home stores that sold netting canopies. “No candles around this, though,” he said, as he put the canopy in their shopping cart. Darcy grinned at him. His focused intensity was really adorable, she thought.

“Yes, Commander,” she said dryly. “Ooooh, LED candles!”

“Get ‘em,” he said. “I want to fix up your bedroom nice, sweetheart. You want more pillows?” The store sold pillows bedding, too.

“My pillows are kinda old and lumpy,” she admitted, choosing a box of LED candles. They were pretty. And soft lighting was good for him, wasn’t I? With the right lighting, he might be more comfortable...

“I see you smiling,” he said.

“This is nice,” Darcy said. “This is a fun plan.” He smiled so widely at her that she felt her heart skip a beat. His smile changed his whole face. They were filling the cart with pillows and new sheets when Darcy’s phone rang. It was Jane. “Hey,” Darcy said. 

“Darcy?” Jane said, voice tinny. “Are you okay?” The line was crackly.

“I’m at Bed, Bath, and Beyond,” Darcy said.

“What--” crackle--”doing?” Jane said.

“Brock is making a fancy lady blanket fort for my bed,” Darcy joked. 

“Oh”--static---”verything’s okay?” Jane asked.

“Yes,” Darcy said, laughing. “I’m going to send you pictures.” She made sure to take a lot of goofy photos of her and Brock feeling up the little sheet samples tacked to the shelves and texted Jane for opinions on her new blankets. Brock was insistent that she ought to have a new one, if she wanted one. “That one’s pretty,” she admitted, staring at a quilt. He took it off the shelf, grinning. “You see the price tag on that, right?” she said. It was expensive.

“Yeah,” he said. He leaned in. “We’re going to have a lot of sex under this stuff, right? You don’t have an aversion to sex on nice sheets or anything?” he whispered. She burst out laughing.

“Nope,” she said. “But we should probably get more sheets.”

“Good plan,” he said, nodding. They wheeled a full cart up to the register. She insisted on using some coupons. “We have to check out separately?” Brock said, laughing.

“Two transactions, two sets of coupons,” the cashier said.

“See?” Darcy said. “She knows!”

“All right,” he said.

“I can’t believe you’re actually hanging my mosquito netting,” she said, once they were back at her apartment. They’d only been apart to get his vehicle. A barefoot Brock was standing on her bed, He looked back and grinned. They’d added some string lights to the top.

“Next I’m going to change your sheets and then we can make out a little. I’m multi-talented,” he joked.

“Yup,” she said. “You are. What do you want for dinner?”

“You want delivery? Chinese or pizza?” he said.

“Look at you, going all non-fancy,” Darcy said, unable to keep the delight out of her voice. 

“I want to do this Netflix and chill thing, sweetheart. I hear all the kids are doing it,” he said. She’d been worried that he’d say he needed to go home. Tomorrow was Monday. They had to work. But she didn’t want him to go. Darcy had been enjoying this whole weekend of time with him. 

“Yay!” she said. “I’m going to be so spoiled. I feel like a princess! I have a canopyyyyyy.” She was doing her best Oprah voice. He looked at her quizzically.

“I think you should contemplate some of the things that make you happy,” he said teasingly. 

“Shut up, you’re totally cuddling me under that thing,” she said. 

“Uh-huh,” he said cheerfully.

“You’re so cute,” she said. Then she took his photo.

“Are you going to blackmail me or something?” he said, sounding amused. He was surrounded by netting and sparkling lights.

“Nope,” she said. “I’m sending it to Jane, so she sees how much fun we’re having. She’s already impressed by my quilt, she told me.” Jane was slowly calming down, she thought, based on her texts. Darcy left the the room, then slid back in. “Do you want one of those healthy person cauliflower crusts on your pizza?” she asked.

“Yeah, probably,” he said, nodding. 

“Even I am not Oprah enough for that,” Darcy muttered, then opened the app to order pizza.

Getting the bed together while they waited for delivery was really fun. She’d never had this much new stuff at once or this many pillows. It definitely made the bed more comfy. “You like it?” Brock said, smiling at her as she bounced on the bed.

“I love it!” Darcy said. “Hey, kiss me.” He grinned.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said. 

They were cuddling under her twinkling canopy after dinner when she asked him if there was anything he wanted. “Hmm?” he said. He looked thoughtful. “Nah,” he said, “today was a fun day. I might want more days like today.”

“Really? But we didn’t go anywhere in the Michelin guide,” she joked. She had eaten pizza in her lingerie, though. That was her big concession to romance, since he’d made her room so pretty. He’d carried her to bed. That had been genuinely romantic.

“Oh, I’ve got stuff planned for next week,” he said, smirking and rubbing her hip.

“What stuff?” she said, sitting up a fraction.

“You’ll find out.”

“You’re not telling me?” she said. “Mean!” She stuck her bottom lip out. He laughed. 

“That’s real cute, sweetheart,” he said. He leaned over to kiss her. She let him. Her fingers were clenched around the fabric of his t-shirt when he pulled back a fraction. 

“Can we take that off?” she asked quietly. “If not--” 

“Yeah. No,” he said, “let’s, yeah, let’s take this off.” The room was dim. 

“If you’re not ready--” she said.

“I’m ready,” he said. He didn’t look ready, she thought. He looked nervous. She shook her head. 

“I’m not rushing you,” Darcy told him, letting go of his shirt. 

“What?” he said, as she clamored over him and pushed the netting aside. “What are you doing?” he asked. She’d sort of belly flopped on him.

“What did I do with the blindfold?” she said. “Is it in the old sheets?” She looked back at Brock and his frown turned into a laugh.

“I’m not a goddamned baby,” he said. He eyed her ass.

“I know, you’re a very hot, accomplished STRIKE Commander with many good quali--,” she said, as he licked his lips. 

“I’m _ the _STRIKE Commander,” he added. “Nobody else outranks me in the whole division.”

“And you definitely have the best hair, I noticed that at the last staff meeting--ah ha, found it,” Darcy said, wiggling her hips. He groaned. “It was under my remote.” She rolled back over, grinned at him, and put the blindfold on with a laugh. “Do your worst, Commander,” she teased. She couldn’t see his expression.

“I thought we were having a minor disagreement,” he said, sounding somewhere between amused and baffled.

“Nope, you won this one, but I get the sex,” she said cheerfully. She reached out blindly, found some part of him and squeezed, grinning. “Ooooooh,” she said. “What’d I get?”

“That’s a pectoral, honey,” he said dryly.

“Well, then, maybe I win,” she said. He started to laugh.

“Is that how this relationship is going to work? You’re not going to let me spend my money without a fight, but you’re going to worry about my feelings, huh?” he said. She heard him shift slightly and felt the bed move.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “That’s how it goes.” She felt him part her knees and sucked in a breath as he stroked the inside of her thighs. “I’m a feelings person,” she said breathlessly. 

“You wanna be my feelings person?” he asked in a low voice. “We both take care of each other?”

“Yes,” she repeated, nodding. He climbed on top of her, heavy and solidly muscular. She felt his stubble brush her neck and shivered. “Ohhhhh.” His mouth was warm. He flicked his tongue softly. She sighed.

“I think they call that a boring, normal couple, sweetheart,” he said in her ear. She giggled. 

“Good, I wanna yell at you for leaving socks in the bathroom.”

“I never leave socks in your bathroom,” he said, sounding slightly offended.

“I know! It’s so depressing that you’re this tidy and this much of a morning person, I worry about your fun quotas,” Darcy said, trying to sound serious and biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Are you meeting your fun quotas?”

“I am now,” he said, kissing her slowly. She felt his hands move from her face to her neck.She rubbed his back as his weight pressed against her.

“Is that--can I literally feel your abs through your shirt?” Darcy said, astonished. She actually felt his muscles as he breathed in and out. 

“Possibly,” he said, voice wry. 

“Damn,” she muttered, sliding her hands under his shirt. She was accustomed enough to his body that she could now distinguish between the scarred, slick, parts of his skin--sometimes gouged from falling building debris--and the ridges of muscles that felt relatively normal. 

“You’re regretting the decision to put that blindfold back on, huh?” Brock asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “Big life regret.”

“Too late,” he teased. She felt him slowly lift the hem of her lingerie and laughed joyously. He lifted himself away from her. “Raise your arms for me, baby,” he whispered, voice low. She complied, feeling warmth pool deep in her belly as her clothes came off and she felt the air against her skin. She had goosebumps. Next she felt him slide down her underwear. He did it slowly.

“Oh,” Darcy sighed. 

“You like that, huh?” His fingers dragged up her calves. Then she felt his mouth on her knee. “You’re so pretty,” he said. “Have I told you how pretty you are?”

“You think I’m pretty?” Darcy said, heart racing.

“I could just look at you, baby,” he said, in that same thrilling voice. He paused--fingers stroking the back of her knee--and she felt overwhelmed by the idea that he was just staring at her. It was erotic--and slightly terrifying. “What is it?” he said, voice turning thoughtful. “Your neck’s all pink, honey.”

“Nobody looks at me,” she said, swallowing. “Nobody notices me at all.”

“I’m looking,” he said intensely. Suddenly, he pulled her up and held her in his arms. “I’m looking,” he repeated. Darcy fumbled until she got her arms around his neck. He was kissing her wildly, roughly. His stubble rubbed against her face. “You know that, right?” he said.

“Yeah,” she whispered, as he lowered her back down onto the bed. His movements were urgent; he kept murmuring endearments strung together as he moved. There was a kind of frantic energy to both of them. She felt a weirdly intense wave of emotion when she came. She was wrecked, she realized. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, when she ducked her face against his neck, breathing raggedly. Her eyes were tearful behind the blindfold.

“Oh God,” she muttered, “I don’t wanna cry during sex. It’s so unattractive.” 

“Shhh,” he said. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.” He slid it off and she realized he was looking at her seriously. “Don’t cry,” he said.

***

He’d left Darcy asleep and met Jack at the gym on Monday morning. “Hey,” Jack said. “Thought you were MIA?” Brock was late. 

“Nope,” Brock said. “Just had an errand.” He’d gone to the bank to get Darcy a debit card on an account he’d set up for her and to get something out of his safety deposit box. He wasn’t mentioning that to Jack.

“You have a good weekend?” the other man asked. His expression was feral.

“What?” Brock replied. He knew when Jack had a funny look. The Aussie set down his weight with a thunk. Brock tilted his head and waited for the kicker. Jack was like a dog with a bone when he was worrying: you couldn’t take it away from him. He just growled and dug in. Good in the field, frustrating in the everyday. 

“Your new lady friend is instagramming photographs of you turning her room into a fancy lady princess room,” Jack said.

“Yeah?” Brock said, grinning. “Which photo?”

“The one with you hanging bloody mosquito netting and fairy lights,” Jack said. “First, you give this woman money, now you’re redecorating her apartment?”

“Say what?” Brock said. “Fairy lights? Did you just slur my girlfriend’s bedroom?”

“No, that’s what they’re bloody called. Fairy lights,” he said. He shook his head. The motion was oddly dog like, as if he had water in his ears. “What are they called here again?” he grumbled.

“Twinkle lights,” Brock supplied. 

“Sounds like taking a bloody leak,” Jack said. “I dunno what you’re thinking?”

“It’s a relationship, Jack, that’s the kind of thing you do,” Brock said. 

“She’s got you behaving oddly,” Jack insisted.

“You know, I always thought Australians were chill people,” Brock mused, knowing this would drive Jack crazy. Jack loathed it when people made assumptions about his personality because he was Australian. Or did the accent.

“Why does everybody bloody think that?” Jack complained, picking up a weight again.

“No idea,” Brock said coolly, smirking. Jack was so distracted, he missed it. “You wake up on the wrong side of somebody?” Brock asked.

“No,” Jack said. “This isn’t about my love life, mate. This is about you. How are you supposed to trust this Lewis woman?”

“We’re dating, pal,” Brock said. “She’s a good person. A fun person.” He picked up a weight, flexing his arm muscles. “I’m having a great time.”

“How much money have you spent on her?” Jack said. He hadn’t lowered his voice. A passing agent looked at him. Brock shrugged.

“Lower your voice,” he said. “You tell anybody about this?”

“Of course not, I’m not a bloody fool,” Jack said.

They were still bickering when they left the gym and went into the office. Brock had a message from his bank; they would mail the card to him and he could activate it. “Who was that?” Jack said, looking suspicious.

“My bank,” Brock said. “I’m having a card made for Darcy.”

“What?” Jack said. “Mate---”

“No lectures,” Brock said crisply. “This is work. We’ve got a briefing on Eastern European threats.” Jack was grumbling and muttering as he followed Brock out of the STRIKE offices. They were sitting in the debriefing when Darcy walked by the glass windows, carrying some files. She was wearing another strange outfit, Jack thought: dark leggings, boots, and a plaid shirt with a belt? Not work-appropriate. Especially not with her cleavage. Was she advertising for other men? He was frowning when Brock leaned over. “You staring at my girl, Rollins?” Brock asked.

“Can’t you buy her some new bloody clothes?” Jack muttered.

“You’re such an asshole,” Brock said, smirking. “And don’t talk shit about my girl. I like the way she dresses fine.”

“What you talking about?” Hernandez said, leaning over. Sharon Carter looked back, too.

“Rollins is being sexist,” Brock said cheerfully, lobbing a general grenade. He knew Carter would be interested in that. “Commenting on the clothes of female SHIELD workers. I think someone should report him.”

“Shut up,” Jack muttered. When the meeting was over, Brock looked at him and smirked.

“Gonna take a break,” he said, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “Meet you in fifteen?”

“Sure,” Jack said, sighing heavily. He was probably going to see the Lewis woman.

“What’s going on?” Sharon Carter asked Jack, once Brock had gone.

“I’m worried,” Jack said. “About Darcy Lewis.”

“Why?”

“Can’t say,” Jack growled out. Sharon raised an eyebrow. 

“Is this a can’t say that you’d like me to investigate?” she asked cannily. Jack shook his head, then sighed.

“He’d kill me. He’s besotted with the bloody woman,” Jack said. 

“I’ll look into it,” Sharon said.

***

When Brock got to Darcy’s desk, she was smiling. At a photo of him on her phone.

He covered her eyes. “You like that guy?” he asked, leaning close to her ear. Someone in the other cubicle rolled their eyes, but he ignored it. 

“Ahhh,” she said. “Is that you?”

“You got other boyfriends?” he said wryly.

“Oh, so many, I can’t keep up,” Darcy joked. When he lifted his hands, she tilted her head back and looked up at him. Her head rested against his abs. It felt nice. He pushed her hair back with his hands. Darcy smiled up at him. “Do you have plans with any other woman tonight?” she asked. 

“Yeah,” he said, scrunching his nose. “But I could cancel those dates?”

“Please do,” she said, laughing. 

“I’m still waiting on you to dump Cap,” he said, bopping the Funko. Darcy laughed. He grinned down at her.

“You have a real resentment of my Funko?” she said.

“He smacked me good in an elevator once, I have the right,” Brock told her. 

“Steve hit you?” Darcy said, looking horrified. She turned in her chair and put her hands on his waist.

“He kinda put me through a ceiling? It was a busy workday,” Brock said, doing a so-so motion with his hand. “I wanted to see you because we’ve got a training exercise during lunch,” he told her. 

“Oh,” she said, looking a little disappointed. “I’ll miss you.”

“How about an early dinner?” he said.

“Okey dokey,” she said. “I’ve been working on our date list. I’ve got ideas.”

“Good,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. He was lying. But it was for a good cause. 


	9. I Have A Potato!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“What can you do with these?” Brock asked the jeweler. 

“They’re very good diamonds,” the other man said. “You were thinking of earrings?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Brock said, threading his hands together. He studied the loose stones on the countertop. Fury had paid him in diamonds once when they’d met in Antwerp. Easy to carry. He’d held onto to them, thinking they could be sold. Or that his mother might like them for something. 

“You could do a very nice stud with these two?” the jeweler suggested. Brock shrugged. 

“Seems a little formal,” he said. Not right for Darcy, his brain supplied. His mother would like them, though. He settled on the studs for his mother and another Christmas gift for his sister, then wandered around peering at the cases. Nothing here was particularly fun. He sighed. 

“Can’t we help you?” one of the salespeople said, smiling. 

“I’m dating a very nice woman who is the most down to earth person I’ve ever met,” Brock explained. “I bought her this”--he pulled up a photo of Darcy smiling in the lollipop necklace--”to be funny and she loves it,” he said. “That’s her kind of thing. I’m at a loss for the next gift. Everything seems too formal and stuffy for her.” 

“She’s very pretty,” the saleswoman said.

“Yeah,” Brock said. He grinned. “That’s why I’m trying get this right. She’s dating down,” he said dryly.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean--” the saleswoman said, blushing. 

“I know,” he said, laughing, “but I did.”

“You shouldn’t say that!” the woman scolded. She sounded so motherly, it made him laugh more. 

***

Darcy seldom ate lunch in SHIELD’s cafeteria, but she was a little disinterested in going out for lunch without Brock. She thought she could go there and spend her lunch break texting Jane. That was the plan. She was going through the line when something odd caught her eye. Darcy realized all of STRIKE Alpha was sitting together at a table. Everyone but Brock. It dawned on her as she sat down. “That sneak,” she muttered. 

“Darcy?” a voice said. Sharon Carter was standing there. “Can I sit with you?”

“Of course,” Darcy said.

“Is something wrong?” Sharon asked.

“No,” Darcy said, smiling as she shook her head. “I’m dating Brock. Rumlow?”

“Yeah?” Sharon said.

“And he told me he had a tactical exercise at lunch, but obviously, there’s no tactical exercise.” Sharon glanced over at the table. Jack Rollins was looking at them. 

“No,” Sharon admitted. “I don’t think there’s anything scheduled.”

“I knew it,” Darcy said. “I think he’s planning something?”

“Like what?” Sharon said. She looked interested. Darcy decided to be open--also, didn’t this count as bragging?

“Knowing him, something expensive,” Darcy confided. She waved a French fry. “He wants to spend a lot more money on me than I’m used to guys spending--”

“His Crossbones money?” Sharon said, tilting her head.

“Yeah,” Darcy nodded. “I, like, prefer pizza and non-fancy stuff and he tried to take me to the Inn at Little Washington?”

“That’s a really nice place,” Sharon said.

“I made him take me to Thai Spice instead, I didn’t want to waste all that kissing time on a commute,” Darcy said. Sharon actually laughed.

“Really?” she said.

“Oh yeah,” Darcy said. “I’d much rather go somewhere with unlimited fries than a four-star place. I’m sort of afraid he’s out there trying to buy me something wildly impractical, like a new car made by Germans,” she joked. Sharon looked at her quizzically. 

“What would you actually like to get as a gift?” she asked Darcy. Darcy missed the thoughtful look in Sharon’s eyes.

“Fun things! Nothing too fancy. Novelty socks and coffee mugs, mostly. I’m so basic, I like pumpkin spice stuff. He did put twinkle lights and netting up in my bedroom, they’re really cute, let me show you,” Darcy said. “So, I think I’m getting him to come around on less Fancyman activities. Isn't that wonderful?” Sharon nodded, a little wide-eyed. 

“What else have you done?” Sharon asked. Ten minutes later, Sharon was laughing hysterically in her seat as Darcy described all the sex toys she’d seen while lingerie shopping. “I’m still not sure where that thing went,” Darcy said, frowning and gesturing its shape with her hands. “I really think it was supposed to go on a penis?”

“Oh my God,” Sharon said. She’d laughed so much, her face was all flushed. “That is so fucking funny, I’m dying.”

“I got a unicorn tail butt plug, I think I’m giving it to Jane as a gag gift,” Darcy whispered, giggling.

“Nooooooo,” Sharon said, laughing until she cried. She dragged the back of her hand against her eyes, smudging her mascara. She smiled at Darcy.

“What did you find out?” Jack asked her. Sharon had come out of the ladies room, dabbing at her mascara smears. He was standing outside, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Sharon said. “She’s completely nuts about him. She’s actively trying to get him to stay home and eat pizza so they can fool around more. He wanted to take her to the Inn at Little Washington and she wanted pad thai instead.” 

“You’re kidding?” Jack said.

“He’s the one driving the money train. What’s Rumlow’s cell number?” Sharon asked.

“Why?” Jack asked.

“Because I need to stop him from buying her something ridiculous that she’ll have to ask him to take back or feel funny about, like Cartier or a bulletproof Mercedes,” Sharon said. “He told her that he had a training exercise and Darcy’s afraid he’s shopping. She collects McDonald’s Happy Meal toys. Did you not talk to her at all?”

“Oh,” Jack said. “Well, no.” He didn’t think their “talk” at the gym counted. She rolled her eyes at him, then Sharon’s attention shifted to the phone.

“Rumlow, this is Carter. What are you doing? You’re not buying Darcy something stupid--no, listen, I have a list of things she actually likes, okay?” Sharon said. “I just talked to her. I’ll help you after work. We can buy her favorite perfume or funny socks--yes, they are romantic if you have cold feet, okay? She’ll be happy.” Sharon walked away, still talking to Brock, but stopped and looked back at Jack. “Why didn’t you help him, you giant moron?” she called to Jack, laughing. 

“Help him?” Jack said, still baffled.

That was how Jack found himself shopping with Carter and Brock after work. They were looking at a display of wacky socks at a department store. “You’re sure?” Brock asked Sharon. “I mean, I know she wears these, I just want her to feel special--”

“Awwww,” Sharon said. “Look, he’s got feelings!”

“Don’t taunt me,” Brock grumbled. “All her friends are in space. She’s got a new job in a new place. She feels overlooked a lot, all right? I want everything I get her to be good.” He was frowning. “Somebody buys you the wrong gift, maybe you feel worse,” he added. Jack could tell Brock was serious.

“Why didn’t you tell me all that?” Jack wondered, looking at a pair of Van Gogh socks.

“Shit,” Brock said. “You get the wrong idea, you never let go of it, Crocodile Dundee. Besides, Carter gets her, you don’t.”

“It’s not that difficult if you actually talk to her,” Sharon said. She plucked a few pairs off the rack. “These and these,” she said. “Hearts and cheese.”

“She likes cheese,” Brock said.

“What kind of trouble were you getting in today?” Sharon asked, tilting her head.

“Went to a jewelry store. I have some, uh, stones I wanted the guy to look at--” Brock said, before Jack cut in.

“Bloody hell, you’re not proposing, are you?” he asked.

“No,” Brock said. He rubbed the back of his head. “Don’t wanna rush things. But I gotta find her some fun things to go with this, Carter,” he said. 

“I really don’t think you should worry so much,” Sharon said gently. “She really likes you.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, nodding. “But I feel like I ought to more because she really likes me. You shouldn’t do less for somebody ‘cause their feelings are more genuine.”

“All right,” Sharon said, consulting the list of things Darcy had mentioned liking. “Follow me.”

“What are we doing?” Jack said, still trying to keep up.

“Next store,” Sharon said. “I made her tell me the perfume she likes.”

“Oh,” Brock said. “Good work, Carter.”

“You’re going to freak out about the price,” Sharon said, smirking.

“Why?” Jack said.

“Because it’s cheap,” she said, laughing. 

***

Brock had told her that he had an errand before he wanted to meet her for dinner, so she was plotting. She wanted to make him dinner. It was just difficult to know what a Paleo dieter would eat. She was Googling _ is spinach allowed on paleo diet _in the grocery aisle and trying to think of suitable sides for the meat in her cart for somebody who didn’t eat potatoes or pasta. Terrifying. She could do a salad. Salads were easy, right? Everyone ate those. She’d just put her croutons on the side. And she could do zucchini. She made zucchini for Jane lots, so the scientist wouldn’t die of vitamin deficiency. She found a recipe for paleo zucchini that used coconut flour. She had made fritters for Jane with normal people flour. That wasn’t too difficult. Then she figured out that sweet potatoes were paleo, too. “Yes!” she said out loud. “I have a potato!” A passing shopper gave her a funny look. “Sorry,” Darcy said. “Paleo diet.” The woman nodded. 

“Ow!” She’d snagged the edge of her finger on the box grater as she grated zucchini for fritters. Luckily, there was no blood. Darcy was trying to time everything in the kitchen. That was the hardest part of cooking multiple things. There was wine in the fridge. Her chicken breasts had been paillard’d and were marinating in a Ziploc. They’d cook quickly. Usually, she cooked them in her panini machine. She’d bought pre-cubed sweet potatoes--she’d almost lost a finger trying to peel those once and never again--so those were roasting with garlic olive oil, red onions, and seasonings. Brock liked garlic. He’d joked about being “an Italian stereotype,” but she was relieved. She liked food with seasoning. Ian hadn’t. He thought she put too much pepper on things. Darcy was fairly certain Brock wouldn’t mind pepper. She could put some more on the fritters. Her big question was whether she should wait until he was there to cook the fritters and the chicken. She really needed a solution for keeping food warm, she thought. Someone had to have figured that out, right? She was too anxious to wait, so she let the shredded zucchini drain--you sprinkled them with salt and pressed the excess water out in a strainer--and started assembling the batter that held them together. She could always re-warm these in the oven with the sweet potatoes, she decided. 

***

“Sweetheart?” Brock said, when she let him in. She was a little pink and glowing. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cooking,” she said. “Apron. Cooking.” She gestured. “Come have zucchini fritters, those are mostly done.”

“You cooked for me?” he said, setting down the bag with her presents inside gently.

“Yeah,” she said. “Surprise!”

“It smells good,” he said, walking into her kitchen. “Can I help?”

“You can wield the chicken tongs, if you want,” she said in a cheerful voice. She flipped whatever was sauteing in the pan, squished it, and smiled back at him. “Your timing’s lucky. These are the last two fritters. I usually have sour cream or ranch with mine, but you can skip it if that’s not on your diet--” 

“I’ll, uh, eat whatever you’re eating,” he said, feeling pleased and baffled at once. She’d decided to cook for him as a surprise? “What are chicken tongs?” he asked.

“Ah,” she said. She left the pan, went to the fridge, and retrieved a bag. She wiggled it. “Chicken breasts,” she said. “When you cut them and thin them out, they cook really fast, so I stick ‘em in the panini press. It’s a little dramatic. Watch.” The light was on the machine. She slid the flattened chicken breast out with a fork, deposited it on the open panini maker, and pressed down. It sizzled. “It takes less than ten minutes, it’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, alarmed by the sounds from the panini maker, “let me do that?”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m going to finish these fritters and get the sweet potatoes out of the oven.”

“You made sweet potatoes?” he said. 

“You’re not allergic, are you?” she asked.

“No, no,” he said. “I’m, uh, impressed.”

“You thought I was just pretty,” she said, laughing at him. “I have to feed Jane sometimes, so I learned a few things.” She deposited the last fritters on the plate next to the stove, turned the burner off, and set the pan in the sink. “Okay, what next--sweet potatoes!” She grabbed mitts and opened the oven door. “Oh, there’s wine in the fridge, if you want to uncork?”

“Okay,” he said.

They were eating when she glanced up at him, looking thoughtful. “Everything okay?” she said. She bit her lip a little.

“It’s great,” he said. He wasn’t being disingenuous. The food was very good. He was trying to restrain himself from saying something utterly stupid like _ move in with me, I want to keep you. _

“What?” Darcy said.

“So, Carter helped me out after work,” he said wryly. “Buying presents for you--”

“More stuff?” she said, raising both eyebrows.

“It’s not nearly nice enough,” he said, grinning. “I think I should buy you that car, okay?”

“No, besides, I love my old car,” she said. “We’ve been through stuff together. And anyway, I don’t cook like this everyday. You want to do something nice for me, you can clean the panini maker.”

“Clean the panini maker,” he said, smirking. “You want more wine?”

“Yes,” she said, “I definitely do.”

“Oh my God, that feels amazing,” she groaned. Brock was rubbing her feet on the couch after dinner. “Wait, where are you going?” she said. He’d gotten up.

“Getting your presents,” he said, retrieving his duffel bag. He set the first one on her lap and continued rubbing her feet. “For me?” Darcy said. She beamed at him. 

“Of course,” he said. He felt slightly embarrassed. These weren’t expensive gifts. And she’d worked hard on dinner. Her feet were a little swollen. “They aren’t fancy,” he added. “But Carter thought you’d like them.” 

“I’m sure I will,” she said. He watched as she tore into the brightly colored wrapping paper. “Socks!” she squealed. “I love these, babe! Cheese!”

“Yeah?” he said. Her smile was wide. “Open the next one.” The next pair of socks were greeted with more delighted sounds. 

“These are so great,” she said. He passed the next package to her. She tore into the paper. “You got me Demeter Cupcake and Vanilla Cake Batter?” she said, beaming. “I love these, but I had to stop wearing my Waffles splash to the lab ‘cause it made Jane too hungry.” Brock laughed.

“She made you stop?” he said.

“Well, for awhile, we ate a lot of Eggos, but then she got sick of them,” Darcy said. “I totally didn’t catch Sharon asking me about this stuff for sneaky reasons.”

“Carter’s a good investigator.”

“I can’t believe she agreed to be your personal shopper like that,” Darcy said. “I should send her a thank you note or some brownies or something.”

“I think Carter’s actually a romantic,” he said, relieved Darcy liked everything. “Why don’t I make you some coffee and we can take your socks to bed, huh?”

“I love this plan,” she told him. Her whole face had lit up. Brock smiled back. 

They were making out in bed when he turned her around. She made a faint noise of distress. “What are you doing?” Darcy said, turned to look over her shoulder at him in the dim glow from the canopy lights. She had her shirt off. He was still in his shirt and boxers.

“Better angle to feel you up,” Brock said teasingly, sliding his hand down her underwear as he kissed her neck. He wanted her to be close before he was inside her. 

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said, tilting her head back as he pressed his fingers between her thighs. Her stomach was soft against his forearm. He didn’t know if it was injury-related or just that she was so fuckable, but he’d been having trouble lasting as long as he wanted to when they were together. All she had to do was take her clothes off and he was halfway gone. She wiggled closer to him and pried his other arm over her breasts. Fuckable, he decided, as he palmed at one nipple and kissed her slowly. 

“You are so fucking gorgeous, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. 

“Oh God,” she whispered, squeezing her thighs together.

“Let me take this off,” he said, sitting up to take his shirt off. 

“You want to?” she said. He nodded and pulled his shirt over his head. She looked up at him with a tentative expression. “Can I touch you?” she said.

“Of course,” he said, smirking. He tried to calm the staccato beat of his nervous heart. Her touch was careful. He glanced down at her hands. She was gently tracing the scars on his chest, clearly visible in the glow of her twinkle lights. “You okay?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she said, smiling at him. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said. He leaned back down to kiss her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this story has no edge at all, sorry. But Demeter Cupcake, Vanilla Cake Batter, and Waffle do exist and they are yummy.


	10. Scott and Darcy Both Collect Happy Meal Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“Do you have my Crossbones photos?” Darcy asked, grinning at him, when Brock got up to wrangle them drinks at the restaurant’s bar. Jack Rollins looked at her and stuttered. They were having dinner. Sharon Carter was supposed to stop by, too, but Rollins had arrived first.

“You were serious?” he said, looking surprised.

“Totally,” Darcy said, nodding firmly. “I’ve already convo’d with the Etsy person who makes the custom Funkos. Thanks for helping with the socks, by the way. Those were great presents.”

“Socks,” Jack repeated.

“I have super cold feet and they’re so fun,” Darcy said, smiling brightly. Rollins stared at her. “Have you been here before?” she asked. She waved a tortilla chip around. They were at a new Mexican place in DC.

“No,” Jack said. Thankfully, Brock came back with drinks. Jack sighed in relief. He didn’t know what to say to Darcy Lewis. He was still confused about how to read her. Could her adoring gazes at Brock be truly real? She kept touching him: rubbing his arm, leaning against his shoulder, brushing the long hair on top of his head back. Jack could see Brock’s evident happiness, too. It worried him. He fretted silently until Sharon Carter arrived with Cameron Klein and started elbowing him under the table. 

“Behave,” she hissed, when Brock went to the bathroom and Darcy and Cam were having a friendly discussion of Star Wars merchandise.

“Fine,” Jack snapped. She was just too into Brock for it to be genuine, he thought. No one was that happy and affectionate over socks. It had to be a ruse.

He was still thinking about it when Brock and Sharon left for an out-of-town mission that week. That was when Jack decided to see what Darcy Lewis was up to when Brock wasn’t around. He went to Cam for a location, pretending he needed to give her something of Brock’s. Klein was distracted anyway: they were having a delicate session of negotiations with whomever was Ant-Man now. Jack had heard through the grapevine that the scientist was coming from California to potentially work with SHIELD, but there was some ambiguous resistance to a potential deal.

***

“Absolutely not!” Hank Pym said bitterly, staring at Scott and Hope in his DC hotel suite. “I’m not letting you negotiate with those cheats without me!”

“Dad,” Hope said. “We’re going to a play, not negotiating with SHIELD.”

“It’s a date?” Scott said hopefully. "A romantic date?"

“I don’t like that either,” Hank muttered. Hope rolled her eyes. Scott gave Hank a pleading look.

“Darcy’s volunteered to baby---ow, come have dinner with you!” Scott said, rubbing his ribs where Hope had quickly jabbed him. “You like Darcy!”

“Darcy Lewis?” Hank said, sounding slightly mollified. “I do like Darcy,” he admitted. “She’s fun.”

“Well, she’s meeting you for dinner at this restaurant,” Hope said. “It’s a very nice restaurant.”

“Le Grenadine. Captain America told me that a Senator took him there once,” Scott added. He glanced at Hope. They’d debated a restaurant nice enough to tempt Hank into letting them go have fun.

“I need to change clothes,” Hank said, mood shifting abruptly. “That’s a three-star restaurant. Go to your play!” He hustled them out of the room and Scott looked at Hope. She was hiding her laughter behind her hand, as she grabbed her purse. 

“We’re free!” she said, laughing, as they got on the elevator.

“He doesn’t think I’m fun, though,” Scott muttered.

“It’s because you don’t have fun boobs, Scott, my dad is a total flirt,” Hope said, patting his arm. “It’s okay, he just has different standards for women who aren’t his daughter, too.” She rolled her eyes a little and then leaned against Scott. He smiled at her.

“We’re free,” he repeated.

“We’ve got the whole night without him interrupting us to rant about SHIELD!” Hope said joyfully. Scott’s beaming smile shifted to a frown as the elevator descended.

“She has just as many Happy Meal toys as me!” Scott said. “That’s true, right?”

“You can use that in your next fight.”

“I’ll write it down,” Scott said.

“Good idea,” Hope said.

“I might forget if I don’t,” Scott said, reaching for his phone to make a note. Hope smiled at him.

***

“Am I talking about him too much?” Darcy said to Hank across the table. She was beaming. She’d been chatting about her new boyfriend since she arrived. How kind he was, how much fun they had, how happy she was to have met him. Talking about him lit up her whole face, Hank had realized. He gave her a soft look. Hank was fond of Darcy

“That’s perfectly all right,” he said. 

“I’m sorry, Hank, I was just so sad before we met--” she said apologetically. Hank frowned. That reminded him of a sore subject.

“This is why I wanted you to come work for my company in California, where you had friends and knew people,” he said. “I’m bringing that up in my meeting with Fury.” SHIELD had insisted that Darcy work for them in DC, not Pym Industries, since they wanted to keep tabs on her Jane-relevant knowledge. Hank, Scott, and the Wombats had wanted her to move to California. Hank had thought she would make an excellent member of the team.

“But I’m doing okay now,” Darcy insisted.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Hank said stubbornly. “They run roughshod over people--completely innocent people!” he said.

“Hank,” Darcy said, smiling tenderly.

“Jack-booted thugs,” Hank muttered, stabbing his asparagus. Darcy giggled.

“You stole that from Jane!” she said. “But it’s adorable to hear it again.”

“Jane Foster is an exceptionally sensible woman,” Hank said. He cleared his throat. He’d promised Hope he would try not to lambast SHIELD in public at such a sensitive time. He glanced around carefully, looking for eavesdroppers. What he saw was people dining pleasantly. “More wine?” he offered Darcy. She nodded. “Where did you meet your new young man?”

“Well…” Darcy said, pulling a face. “He’s not exactly my young man. Brock is a little older than me--but he’s never been married or had children. He’s not one of those men with four ex-wives and six kids or something.”

“So he has exceptionally good taste and discernment, like some older men?” Hank prompted. Darcy grinned at him. 

“I can think of at least one charming older man,” she said, scrunching her nose adorably. Hank laughed.

“Where does he work?” Hank asked. Darcy made another face.

“He works for SHIELD, he’s actually, um, a STRIKE commander,” she said. “Brock Rumlow? He runs STRIKE Alpha now?” Hank dropped his fork. 

“Crossbones?” he said, looking stunned. He recognized the name. “You’re dating Crossbones?” he said. The terrifyingly violent mercenary who’d run a series of SHIELD heists all over the world and then be given a patched together pardon by the president to cover for Fury and Hill’s machinations? Hank was horrified.

“Hank!” Darcy said. “Shhhhhh.” She glanced around, then looked back at him. “Are you all right? You look pale, Hank?”

“Crossbones,” he repeated numbly. Hank remembered the scarred face from television.

“He was just stealing things back for Fury, he isn’t really like that in real life,” Darcy said.

“Oh, Darcy,” Hank said sadly. “Is that what you’ve been told?”

“Look,” she said, pulling out her phone. “He hung twinkle lights in my bedroom.” It was Crossbones, Hank realized, holding a strand of Christmas lights. Hank’s stomach lurched. The scarred face was identical. Even the smile still looked diabolical to him.

“You are dating the most jackbooted of all the jackbooted thugs,” Hank said, feeling grim. “I do not approve of this, Darcy!”

“You’d really like him if you met him, we’re crazy about each other,” she said, smiling gently.

“Someone’s crazy,” Hank muttered. “I knew I never should have let Fury bully you into moving here!”

***

“Hank,” Darcy said, sighing, as they left the restaurant, “you cannot yell at Fury about who I’m dating. Hope will be so mad at you.” Hank offered her his arm. “Thank you,” she said, grinning at his gallantry. They were going for a walk around this part of DC. Hank has suggested a stroll. Even mad, Hank was dashing. 

“Hopie will understand,” Hank said stubbornly.

“No, she will not,” Darcy said. “I’m a grown woman, Hank!”

“You are without Jane to defend you, someone needs to step in,” Hank said. “Has it occurred to you that he might be after her research?” Darcy burst out laughing.

“Noooooo, Hank,” she said, beaming, once she was able to stop laughing. “He’s really here for the boobs, I promise you.”

“I don’t know that I appreciate that, either,” Hank said in a sharp voice. “Just how old is he? Are you certain there aren’t ex-wives? Should I do a background check?”

“You cannot background check my boyfriend,” she said. “He’s only in his late forties, I think?”

Hank harrumphed. 

“Too old,” he said.

“Not too old for me!” she said.

  
  


***

Neither of them noticed Jack Rollins taking photos from across the street. He stayed back too far to hear most of their conversation. But he did hear one snippet. When he heard Darcy loudly, laughingly tell the new man that he was “not too old for me” as they crossed the street, Jack felt sick. 

When he got home, Jack uploaded the photos to his laptop, then scrolled through them. In all them, Darcy looked delighted. She was clearly happy. He would need to tell Brock that Darcy had another sugar daddy, he realized with a sinking feeling. This was obviously a date. The man had offered her his arm in one photo and in the next Darcy was laughing and he was waving a walking stick. Jack thought the man looked oddly familiar. Was he a lobbyist? A columnist? Who was Darcy’s other man, Jack wondered? A politician?


	11. Tootsie Roll Pop?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Mate,” Jack said, as Brock descended the quinjet ramp. He’d waited until Brock and his team returned to SHIELD to talk with him. “I need to talk to you. It’s, uh, important. About Darcy.” Brock straightened fractionally.

“What about Darcy?” he said. 

“Let’s talk in your office,” Jack said. They walked quietly inside and down a hallway. Jack was nervous. He didn’t know where to begin. He sighed. Brock looked at him. 

“What’s gotten to you?” Brock said.

“I--I did something,” Jack said. “I followed Darcy on a date. With an older man--”

“You what?” Brock said, turning rapidly. “What did you do, Jack?” he repeated. But Jack was looking over Brock’s shoulder. His mouth had dropped open and he couldn’t close it. 

“She--she was out with a man. He’s standing in your office right now,” Jack said. Brock turned.

“Fuck,” he said, then pushed the door open, leaving a gaping Jack in the hallway.

“You’re Hank Pym,” Brock said. “Darcy knows you. Sir, I’m a big fan--” The white-haired, elegantly dressed man standing in Brock’s office waved dismissively. He wasn’t smiling.

“Don’t try to snow me,” he said sharply. “I know how SHIELD operates.” He marched up to Brock and smiled in a dangerous way. “I don’t like you. I don’t approve of you. But I am very fond of Darcy. Which means that if you hurt her, I will make your life an utter misery, do you understand?”

“Mr. Pym,” Brock began, confused and slightly stunned. He was a fan of Pym’s technology. They’d heard stories about the ants. ”I, uh, I--” Brock couldn’t think of what to say. 

“You’re too old, too dangerous, and probably too dishonest, but she loves you,” Pym added, seeming not to acknowledge that Brock had spoken.

“She loves me?” Brock said, seesawing between confusion and delight. 

“Apparently. God knows why, you don’t impress me. I have a meeting with Fury. Just as long as we’re clear,” Hank Pym said, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing forcefully. “I can turn anything into a weapon. Even a keychain.” He turned for the door. “Anything happens to Darcy and you will never sleep well again, Rumlow!” he called over his shoulder.

He left Brock’s office door open and disappeared.

“What in bloody hell was that?” Jack said.

“Hank Pym knows my name,” Brock said. “I think he threatened me.”

“What?” Jack said.

“He’s friends with Darcy. He doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t?” Jack said.

“But she loves me,” Brock said, starting to laugh. He was tired, he was dirty, and he probably needed a shower, but she loved him. It was nine am. Was she at work already?

*** 

Darcy was chatting with Scott Lang at her desk. “A custom Cap Funko Pop? This is awesome!” Scott said excitedly. “Someone made this for you?”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “I’ll get you the name of my Funko Pop connection.” Scott flicked Funko Cap’s head gently. He bobbled.

“His beard is so realistic,” Scott said. “You can see the hand painting!”

“She’s making me a Crossbones one,” Darcy said. Scott smiled brightly at Darcy. 

“Do you think your person could make a Wasp one for Hope?” he whispered. “She’d never admit she wanted one, but I think she would like it, deep down.”

“Let’s send her an email?” Darcy said. “Do you have photos?”

They were excitedly adding photos to an Etsy conversation when Brock appeared. “Babe!” Darcy said, smiling at him. “You’re back!” She hopped up.

“Just got in,” he said. “I’m a little dirty--” he began, but she hugged him anyway. Scott was looking at them. “Hi,” Brock said. He didn’t know how Scott would respond to his presence. Darcy had described Scott as her “brother from another mother” and “the male me” a few times, but Hank had definitely been less than impressed. Brock tried to smile politely at Scott. Scott beamed back.

“You really do have great hair,” Scott told him. “Your Funko is gonna be great.”

“You’re okay with me?” Brock said. Darcy drew back.

“Why wouldn’t he be? What happened?” she asked, frowning.

“Hank Pym, uh, threatened me a little?” Brock said. 

“Oh, man, he does that,” Scott said. “You can’t take it seriously. He threatens me all the time. ‘Scott, I’ll squash you. Scott, you’re a complete ignoramus,’ stuff like that,” Scott said. He waved dismissively and almost fell out of his rolling chair. 

“What?” Darcy said, looking horrified. She swiveled her head between the two men. “He said that to you?” she asked Scott.

“He’s nicer to you than me,” Scott admitted, cringing a little as he sat back up. “Hope says he likes cute girls.” Looking at Scott’s expression, Brock started to laugh. 

“Hey, that’s not funny, it’s mean to Scott!” Darcy said, making a scolding face.

“But you are cute,” Brock said, arm curled around her waist. “Very cute.”

“Awww,” Scott said. “You guys are adorable. He’s all handsome and menacing and you’re wearing that cool t-shirt.”

Brock looked down at Darcy’s shirt for the first time. It had a shouting ice cream cone and the words “Ice Scream” on it. He looked back at Scott. “He really is a male you, isn’t he?” Brock said to Darcy.

“Yup,” Scott said. “But with ants.”

“That’s why I can’t believe Hank would say that!” Darcy said.

“He’s a little intense,” Brock said, grinning. 

“It’s mostly a ruse,” Scott said, retrieving a sucker from his pocket. “Tootsie Roll pop?” he offered. "I've got plenty."


	12. What If It Is Your First Rodeo?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy really wanted Brock to get along with the California crew; she thought he would be fine with Scott and Hope, but Hank would need some work. So, she convinced everyone to go to dinner while they were there. She even invited Sharon and Jack; Maria was out of town with Fury. Hank insisted on somewhere very fancy, of course. Brock was game. He’d mentioned to Scott that he was a fan of Pym tech, which only made Scott more friendly. She, Brock, Sharon, and Jack were following them to the restaurant when Brock stopped enthusing about Pym particles and cleared his throat. “Jack?” he said. From the backseat, Jack made a stricken sound. 

“I’m very sorry, Darcy,” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “What for?”

“He followed you when you had dinner with Pym,” Sharon said.

“Which he knows was a mistake,” Brock said in a stern voice.

“You did?” Darcy said, turning her head to look in the backseat. In the semi-darkness, Jack looked embarrassed.

“Yeah,” he said. “I apologize.”

“He will continue to apologize,” Brock said.

“I will,” Jack said.

“But why?” Darcy wondered. “Why would you follow me?”

“He thought Hank was your secret boyfriend,” Sharon supplied, looking gleeful at Jack’s discomfort. “Because he’s an idiot.”

“Yes,” Brock said crisply. Jack blew out air and looked like he wanted to hide.

“Sorry, Darcy,” Jack muttered again.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “But I kinda get it. Hank is very dashing and he has great style--”

“What?” Brock said. The car swerved slightly. “He’s seventy goddamn years old.”

“Well, it’s not like that matters, if someone makes you happy,” Darcy said, turning back to look at Brock in surprise. 

“How can somebody old enough to be your grandfather make you happy?” Brock said.

“He can be very kind when he wants to be--” Darcy said.

“How kind?” Brock said. “Like, inviting you to the Bahamas?”

“No,” Darcy said. “Not romantically. I mean, he would if it were a family vacation.”

“A family vacation?” Brock said.

“Can we concentrate on our driving, Commander?” Sharon said. “You just passed the turn.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Brock said. 

“Good,” Darcy said. “It’s really nothing to worry about.” He was quiet for a second. 

“Hold on, I can’t let this go--” Brock started again. From the backseat, Darcy heard an odd sound. High-pitched. She realized that it was the sound of an Australian laughing. She looked back at Jack. He was shaking, lips pressed together tightly. Darcy lost it then, too. She started to giggle. Sharon joined them. “Hey, now,” Brock said, huffing and doing a u-turn. “It’s not that goddamn funny.” 

“It’s--it’s hilarious!” Darcy said, between peals.

“Uh-huh,” Sharon said, nodding. She was pink-cheeked. “You’re jealous of Hank Pym.”

“But I thought you were a fan?” Darcy said, wiping her eyes.

“He is!” Jack said.

“You’re all pains in my ass,” Brock grumbled. But he smiled at Darcy, scars twisting.

“Mate,” Jack said, as they pulled up to the restaurant. “This is too good.” 

“Have you finally calmed the fuck down?” Brock muttered.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Temporary insanity?” he offered.

“I told him he was being a jealous bitch,” Sharon said, as they got out of the car. 

“I thought so too!” Darcy said. “But, really, who could blame him?” She smiled at Brock. “You’re so cute. I would be jelly if I was your BFF, too.” 

“You said I was your BFF?” Jack said, sounding delighted.

“I thought we could get matching necklaces,” Brock said dryly.

“I would totally support that,” Darcy said. “Jane and I have keychains. It’s this one. They’re peanut butter and jelly charms. I got jelly.” She’d decided to befriend Jack. She could probably win him over with some brownies, she thought. He looked like he ate more than Brock. And she didn’t want Brock and Jack to become estranged over her.

“Huh,” Jack said, looking thoughtfully at her keychain. 

“Jane likes peanut butter, so she took the peanut butter to space,” Darcy explained. “But I totally get you being attached to Brock.” 

“You do?” he said.

“You’ve been friends forever--” Darcy said, before Brock interrupted.

“She finds it endearing, but it won’t stop me from punching you in the face,” Brock said.

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“Call me if he gets out of hand,” Darcy whispered. 

“I heard that,” Brock said, grinning and taking her hand.

Hank, Scott, and Hope were already standing outside on the sidewalk. As they walked up, Hank spoke first. “There she is!” he said in a happy voice. 

“And Brock!” Scott said, waving brightly.

“He’s going to be troublesome,” Hope muttered to Darcy as they went inside. She meant her father.

“It’s okay,” Darcy said. “I think Brock is a bit of a Pym fanboy. A little.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup,” she said. Scott, who had wedged himself between Hank and Brock when Hank looked ominous, was busy offering to show Brock stuff.

“Would you wanna be really big or really small?” Scott said. “Cause we can do either one. Or both. Both is cool, right?”

“Uhh,” Brock said.

“Scott, you are not showing a SHIELD agent my technology,” Hank said. “Reservation for Pym.” His voice was crisp.

“C’mon, Hank,” Scott complained, as the hostess led them to the table. “He’s Darcy’s boyfriend!”

“I am,” Brock said. “I am her boyfriend.” He said firmly enough that Sharon shot Darcy a look and Darcy couldn’t look at Jack for a second. She was sure that Jack was trying not to laugh. Brock moved to sit next to her.

“He’s cool,” Scott said, gesturing. “Look at him.” 

“Very cool,” Sharon added. 

“I think so,” Darcy said, smiling at him. Brock smiled back and mouthed a  _ thank you. _ Hank sat down, then looked across the table at Brock.

“I understand that you’re a thief?” he said archly.

“Dad!” Hope said.

“He certainly stole my heart,” Darcy said, leaning over to kiss Brock’s cheek.

“Awwww,” Scott said. “That’s sweet. Look how cute they are!”

“Bloody cute,” Jack said, a giggle escaping his chest. It sounded like a wheeze.

“You shut the hell up,” Brock grumbled. “It’s wrong for you to enjoy this, considering.”

“Considering what?” Hank said. 

“Jack followed us to dinner. He was concerned that I was seeing other people while Brock was out of town,” Darcy explained.

“What?” Hope said, looking horrified.

“Dude, that is not cool,” Scott said. 

“As I have tried to tell you both,” Hank said, looking at Scott and Hope, “this is the typical SHIELD attitude. Deceit upon espionage upon theft,” he said.

“Yes, Dad,” Hope said.

“But--but she would never cheat on Brock!” Scott said. He was looking at Jack with an offended expression.

“I know, right?” Darcy said. “But Hank, it’s really that you’re so dashing.”

“Yes,” Sharon said. “I could see it.” That made Hank preen a little.

“Thank you,” he said. “As I see it, age is no excuse for a man to lose his style.” He looked at Brock significantly. “Provided he educates himself enough to develop true style in the first place. Not this business of wearing ridiculous shoes and acid wash denim,” he added.

“You don’t like my shoes?” Brock said. He was wearing black and white boots with his jeans. He looked down at them.

“Oh, no, those are totally cool,” Scott said quickly. “And acid wash is back. I saw it on  _ Buzzfeed.” _

“Yeah?” Brock said, smiling.

“I like them,” Darcy said, nodding.

“Darcy,” Hank said, sighing. “I can tell you are emotionally compromised.” 

“You can?” she said.

“They are terrible shoes. Just dreadful,” Hank told her. "He is dressed like a Fort Worth gigolo." 

"Texas?" Brock said. "I'm from New York." The end of the table erupted in giggles.

“Guys,” Scott scolded. “Oh, man, you got Hope, too.” Hope was giggling along with Sharon and Jack. 

“Sorry, Brock. It’s not your shoes,” Hope choked out finally. “It’s the phrase ‘emotionally compromised,’ Dad!”

“Where is the lie?” Hank said, as the waitress came to ask about drinks.

"I still need clarification on Texas," Brock said.


	13. Don't Tell Me, I Want to Be Surprised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Goodbye, Hank!” Darcy called, leaning out of the car window. Hank waved back, adjusted his hat, and turned to follow Scott and Hope. Darcy and Brock were dropping Scott, Hope, and Hank off at the airport at the close of their DC trip. She turned back to look at Brock in the driver’s seat. “I’m going to miss them,” she said. He smiled at her. She reminded him a kid whose friends had to leave the sleepover early. Even if Hank Pym had called his shoes tacky. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I got that.” He rubbed the five o’clock shadow on his scarred jaw. 

“I miss you more when you’re gone,” Darcy said, leaning over to kiss him. The person in the drop-off line behind them honked. “Whoops,” she said. “We’re being the obnoxious PDA couple.”

“What’s next on your fun itinerary?” Brock asked, as they pulled away.

“I dunno,” Darcy said. “What about your fun itinerary? Can we do something you’d like?” 

“Yeah, we can do that,” he said smirking. He had something planned already. That was why he’d asked the question in the first place. 

“Why are you smiling?” Darcy said.

“I might have some ideas,” he admitted.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Don’t tell me, I want it to be a surprise.”

“I would never,” Brock said wryly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. He’d never met anyone with her particular blend of playfulness and sensuality. He felt more comfortable with Darcy than anyone he’d ever been with before. To think he could have missed this, he thought, if she hadn’t felt emboldened enough to yell at a guy in the damn break room.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“Stuff,” he said.

“Secret stuff?” she said.

“Maybe,” he said, turning on his blinker.

“Ooooh, secret stuff.” 

He laughed.

  
  


“A chocolate shop?” Darcy said, as they approached the storefront. “That doesn’t sound like a you thing.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but spoiling you is a me thing. We’re taking a chocolate tasting class.”

“Really?” she said, delighted. “You’re so great. Do I tell you that enough? I feel like I don’t.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” he said, opening the door for her. The chocolate course was all about flavor profiles. They served little glasses of sparkling wine. Darcy was happily sighing her way through a tasting of dark chocolate sprinkled with pink sea salt and laced with something crunchy when she looked at him.

“I love you,” she said, voice bubbly.

“That’s just the chocolate and wine talking,” he said. But he put his arm around her, brushed his lips to her forehead and said it back. “Love you, too,” he whispered. She beamed at him.

“Also, you have good ideas,” Darcy said.

“And you fight me every step of the way,” he said teasingly. She frowned at a truffle.

“Do I?” she asked.

“When there’s money involved, yeah,” Brock said. He let her lean against him.

“Oh God, I do, don’t I?” she said. “How can I do better?”

“Just say yes to my next big thing,” he said. 

“Okay. Wait, did I just say yes?” Darcy said. 

“Uh-huh,” he said. 

“Ookay,” she said, more slowly. “What’s the thing--wait, try this raspberry thing first,” she said, pressing a chocolate to his mouth. He grinned. As he chewed, she talked. “I love chocolate--thank you,” Darcy said to the store employee who refilled her champagne glass. “This is just a very classy way of dating a girl up,” she added, going for a chocolate filled with mocha mousse. He snorted. But that got him thinking. He swallowed the last bit of raspberry, licking his scarred mouth. “Want another one?” she said.

“Hold on,” he said. “Put down that chocolate, sweetheart, and say yes to something for me?”

“All righty,” Darcy said. “What is it?”

“How much paid time off do you have?” he asked, reaching for his phone.

“Umm, four days or so?” Darcy said. “I think?” She scrunched her nose.

“Stay right here,” he said, “Somebody in HR owes me a favor. I’m going to handle everything.”

***

“Ooooooh,” Scott Lang said, staring at his laptop in Pym’s laboratory late the next day.

“What is it? Did some boyband break up?” Hank said sarcastically. He was reading the paper as they ran an experiment. He preferred full-size newspapers. Hope snorted. 

“No,” Scott said. “Brock took Darcy on a surprise trip!”

“Where? The place where they filmed _ Saturday Night Fever?” _Hank said.

“Dad,” Hope scolded.

“Oh, excuse me. A Guy Fieri restaurant?” he offered. 

“What is your problem with Guy Fieri?” Scott said. 

“He’s loathsome,” Hank said.

“But he’s not Pol Pot or Hitler, he’s just a dude who likes burgers and flames painted on things--” Scott began.

“Oh dear God,” Hope said. “Can we not have this argument again? Where did Brock take Darcy?”

“Paris,” Scott said. “Did I not say that? She just posted that they’re having hot chocolate at some place in Paris that Audrey Hepburn liked--it looks sweet,” he said. He turned the laptop so Hope could see Darcy holding a cup of rich-looking chocolate. “Doesn’t that look like pudding?” Scott said. “Pudding’s kinda ruined for me now. I could understand if you were mad at Bill Cosby--” he told Hank. The largest machine on the floor beeped to indicate the end of their experiment.

“All right,” Hank said, ignoring Scott’s ruminations. “Scott, I believe it is your turn to clean the cartridges. As you know, they get messy.”

“You always say it's my turn,” Scott said, but he stood up anyway. Hope was still staring at the photo and it was momentarily blocked by Scott, then reappeared again.

“Angelina’s,” Hope sighed. “Darcy and Brock are at Angelina’s. I wish I was at Angelina’s. Why am I not?”

“Are you talking to yourself again?” Scott said, turning back. He’d put on gloves to clean the machinery.

“Possibly,” Hope said.

***

“I’ve decided I love this _ almost _ as much as I love you,” Darcy said, trying not to slurp her very fancy hot chocolate. It was she and Brock’s first stop after checking in at the hotel. She’d hardly slept since he’d announced the surprise trip the evening before. They’d packed, taken an overnight flight, and suddenly, she was in Paris. Angelina’s was French fancy: there was gilt everywhere, the pastries looked like works of art, and the hot chocolate was delicious. “But I’m a little pissed at Jean-Charles or whatever his name is”--she meant the waiter-- “for side-eyeing you.” Brock laughed, shrugging.

“European waiters,” he said. “They treat everybody like that. I kinda prefer it. They aren’t singling me out.” She knew he meant for his burns.

“You mean I don’t get to dramatically slap someone, because that feels like a very Paris vacation thing?” she said.

“Nope,” he said. “What else you want while we’re here? Jewelry? Clothes?”

“I dunno,” Darcy said. “I was thinking we could go back to that very nice hotel room, have a bath, and snuggle?” She had a smidge of jet lag. Also, the bed looked comfy. He chuckled.

“Sweetheart, have I ever told you that you’re absolutely the worst sugar baby in the world?” he said in a low voice, leaning forward so no one else could hear.

“Possibly,” Darcy said. She drank more of the chocolate and reached for a chesnut macaron. He smiled at her. “What would a good one do?” she wondered, mid-macaron. “In Paris?”

“Spend my money,” Brock said. “On beautiful things.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I was thinking we could go to the Louvre and that garden next door”--she waved her hand, unable to think of the name she’d heard another tourist mention---”the um, shit, I’m having a brain fart. It’s a word like twirly?” Darcy said, frowning and trying to concentrate.

“The twirly gardens?” Brock said, laughing out right. “Okay, sweetheart.”

“Don’t laugh, it’s my jet lag. The twirly something, okay?”

“Art museums and gardens,” Brock said, shaking his head. “Just terrible at this.”

“I’m offended that you think I can’t be slutty and cultured,” Darcy sassed back. 

Instead of going back to the hotel, they bundled up and went to the Louvre. It was crowded, but Darcy dragged him through the sprawling rooms and hallways, past the tiny and green Mona Lisa, over to something she really wanted to see. “This,” she said. “I’ve always wanted to see Psyche and Cupid. It’s on a bajillion postcards, but I never had time or money to go to Paris when Jane and I were here.”

“Antonio Canova,” he said. 

“Italian,” she said.

“I approve,” he said wryly. He was a tiny bit of an Italian chauvinist, but only in the cutest ways. They circled the statue, looking at the embracing couple from all angles. 

“Cupid’s got a cute butt, but it’s nothing to yours,” she told Brock. He tilted his head and studied the statue’s ass.

“Uh-huh,” he said. She had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him, but she didn’t feel tired anymore. “You want to wander around, see what else there is?” he said, smiling slowly. They looked in various rooms and peered down hallways. A few times, they even got lost. It was fun. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I have seen enough of John the Baptist’s head on a plate to be cultured and refined.” Brock snorted. After the museum, they decided to go see the gardens. “Ooooh,” Darcy said. “It snowed while we were inside.” A little dusting of snow crunched under her feet.

“This way,” Brock said, studying a map on his phone.

“Oh, man,” Darcy said, as stood at one of the entrances. “Look at that.” The garden that stretched in front of them was icy white with rows and rows of neatly arranged brown trees. Even the water around the fountain was frozen solid.

“Well,” Brock said, “twirly gardens.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. There was a Christmas market, but it was unexpectedly closed. Darcy gazed at the shuttered food booths and rides. "This is totally my luck," she said. The whole thing made her laugh. They got lunch at a nearby restaurant, instead. “I did not remember that it was December until we got outside,” Darcy said, nose red, as they were seated.

“Better in spring,” Brock said, rubbing his hands together. “What are we eating now?”

“No idea, I can’t read that one, that one, or that one,” she said, reaching for her phone to translate. “I just know the word for French fries.”

“I’m guessing it’s not French fries?” he said.

“Nope,” she said. They ambled through an order of pizza and sleepily talked about where to go afterwards. When the pizza arrived, Brock’s happy expression turned.

“What the fuck is that?” he said.

“Egg,” Darcy said. “That is an egg on your pizza.” He poked tentatively at the sunny yolk with a fork. It was sitting smack dab in the middle of the pie.

“Jesus,” he muttered. 

“I’m gonna translate _send it back,”_ Darcy said.

“No, no, I’ll eat around it,” Brock said.

“Are you scared of French waiters?” Darcy said, astonished.

“No,” Brock said. “He just looks like a food spitter and I’d have to shoot somebody who spit on your food.”

“Yeah?” Darcy said, brows going up.

“The prisons here are no good, sweetheart. Not good at all.” 

“That one dude escaped from one, I bet you could,” Darcy said. “I have faith in you.”

“The helicopter escape?” Brock said. She nodded. “I could do that,” he decided.

“Mmm-hmm, I agree. Eat your pizza,” she told him.

“I’ll eat around the egg,” he said.

  
  


Full and cold, they stumbled back to the hotel. “That pizza wasn’t half bad. Thank fuck it’s warm here,” Brock said, shedding his coat, scarf, and gloves. Darcy was already undressing.

“Are you coming around to eggy pizza?” she said, looking up and grinning.

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. They tumbled into bed together. Buried under the blankets, she kissed the scars across his chest. He’d left the light on. That was fairly new for them. Her getting to see him and his scars so clearly. Darcy smiled, feeling like they’d hit some kind of milestone. 

“You okay?” she said softly, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes. His expression was soft.

“I’m good, I’m good,” he said. 

“You’re so warm,” she told him. “I’m still freezing.” She twined her fingers through his and held his arm above her body, guiding it over her. Brock kissed her gently. They traded kisses back and forth playfully and she tried to steal some of his body heat. 

“Condom?” he said finally.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She watched as he put it on and then reached her hands out, encouraging him to come back to her. She pressed her mouth against his scarred forearm and then brought it down over her body, tucking herself slightly underneath him. She wanted to feel wrapped up in him, totally surrounded, totally warm. 

“Good?” he said. He’d settled his weight carefully, not yet inside her. There was a moment of hesitation on his face before she leaned up to kiss him eagerly. She felt him smile. 

“Very,” she whispered against his mouth, feeling a kind of giddy happiness. It started somewhere around her chest and bubbled up joyfully as she dotted his scarred face and neck with light kisses. She was kissing him when she felt Brock reach down to hold the back of her thigh. He shifted his hips and pushed into her. “Ooooh,” Darcy said happily. 

“Yeah?” he said, smirking.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, grinning back. “Someone’s feeling, um, a little thick today.” 

“That just’s because you’re still half-frozen,” he said, shifting to reach down between her legs. “I’ll warm you up, sweetheart,” he said teasingly.

They were slow with each other. Comfortable. She nuzzled his face as he moved on top of her. He wasn’t hurried or rough. Everything felt intimate and slowed down. She was kissing him when she realized snow was falling again outside the hotel window. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tuileries in winter: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Jardin_des_Tuileries_in_winter
> 
> if you want to stare longingly at Angelina's hot chocolate: https://goo.gl/maps/bZze6vKHZVQ4QBvr5


	14. Presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Hey,” Brock said, when she woke up. They were still wrapped up in the sheets. 

“What time is it?” Darcy asked. She had that drowsy feeling where she didn’t quite know if it was day or night.

“It’s about six pm,” he said, yawning and checking his phone.

“What day is it?” she wondered. He laughed.

“Still today,” he said, climbing out of bed. “Get up, Cartier is open for another hour.”

“Cartier?” Darcy said. 

“Yeah,” he looked back at her. He was completely naked. She let her eyes linger, thinking about what they could be doing. “What’s that face? I called ahead and made us an appointment at Cartier,” he said, reaching for his clothes. Darcy sat up, frowning a little. “If you don’t like anything there, we’ll try Bvlgari. I should have taken you to Bvlgari earlier, we were right there--” he said, more to himself than her.

“I was thinking about seducing you. I thought we could go see the Eiffel tower and come back to bed,” Darcy said, patting her hair. She was fairly sure she didn’t have clothes for Cartier. Or Bvlgari. Brock laughed at her and then wagged his finger.

“Get dressed, Miss Terrible Golddigger,” he said. “If you had to depend on conning men for expensive gifts, you’d starve.”

“Yes, well, my mama always said, _ if you marry for money, you work everyday, _ it’s why I majored in care and feeding of Jane, instead,” Darcy said wryly, picking up her lined leggings off the floor. He snickered. “Where is my underwear?” she wondered.

  
She was underdressed for Cartier, but Brock made it clear he wanted to spend real money, so Darcy was presented with trays and trays of what the salesman called ‘high jewellery.’ High jewellery had a lot of panther motifs, as it turned out. And parrots. Also, zero price tags, a fact that filled her with dread. “Where would I even wear this?” she whispered to Brock, dubiously eyeing a big cat with emerald eyes that was the center element of a diamond and sapphire studded necklace. 

“You could name him?” Brock offered. “Tony the tiger?” That made her giggle.

“This belongs on someone named Rockefeller who goes to galas, not me, working in the lab all day,” Darcy said. He smirked.

“I’ve seen photos of you at Stark’s gala. You wore those nice earrings,” Brock said, teasingly. He was clearly spoiling for this fight.

“Nice earrings?” Darcy said. “Have you been planning this talk in your head?”

“Possibly.” He gestured for the salesman.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. Brock raised an eyebrow.

“Long diamond earrings, yellow diamonds at the bottom? Where are those?” he asked.

“Oh. Those were Jane’s. They were gifts from Thor’s mom, Jane loaned them to me. They live at Jane’s safety deposit box,” Darcy said. “Not mine.” 

“You could have something better. Can she try this one on?” Brock asked, pointing out something on one of the trays. Darcy couldn’t help it: she gasped. It was an elaborately-woven diamond choker with a massive sapphire at the center. “You like that, huh?” he said.

“Princess Diana would’ve have liked that,” Darcy said, as the salesman came around and secured it to her neck. 

“White gold and diamonds with a nineteen-point-eight carat Ceylon sapphire, monsieur,” he said. “Absolutely unique.” 

“God, it’s so beautiful,” Darcy whispered, looking in the mirror. It looked amazing. The diamonds ringed her neck in a woven pattern. The sapphire was beautiful. It was almost unreal. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said.

“It’s yours,” Brock said. The salesman brightened.

“I’m not a Saudi princess, Brock,” she said, a little sadly.

“No, I ran security for a Saudi prince once, you’re much weirder than him. He spent money just fine,” he said playfully.

“I feel like this would live at the bank, too,” she said, sighing. “Please take it off.”

“Darcy--” he said, as the salesman unhooked the clasp.

“I wanted something I could wear every day,” she said, touching Brock’s arm. “You know, not take off kind of jewelry. Because it reminded me of you,” she added. He opened his mouth, then closed it. 

“Damn it. You had to say that, huh?” he said. He looked at the salesman. “Where’s your little stuff, I’m striking out here? You want a necklace, right?” Darcy nodded. She’d been feeling weird without her lollipop, but he’d told her to leave it at home for this trip.

“Every day ones,” she said. The salesman sighed, then brought out a bunch of tiny diamond solitaires.

“Diamants légers, madame,” he said. They were tiny pops of glitter that rested right on the hollow of her throat. She liked the way they seemed to float on fine chains.

“These are pretty,” Darcy said, putting on the smallest one. “I could wear this anywhere.”

“Nondescript,” Brock said, clearly less impressed. 

“They’re not suspects in a homicide,” Darcy said, reaching up to touch the necklace as she looked in the mirror. “This one,” she said, smiling. “It’s like a fairy necklace.”

“How much of a carat is that?” Brock said, with a kind of focused grimness.

“The extra small is point-zero-four of a carat, monsieur,” the salesman said, evidently pained.

“Jesus,” Brock muttered. “A chip. That is the discards when they cut a real diamond--”

“Shhhh,” Darcy said. “Besides, I like solitaires!”

“All right, all right,” Brock said, mouth in a line. “Wait, hold on, what about a larger diamond solitaire?” He looked hopefully at the salesman.

“Monsieur will possibly appreciate items of two to five carats?” he said.

“Yes, for God’s sake,” Brock said. He gestured at the sales guy's retreating back. “He gets it.”

“I’m sure we’ll make an interesting dinner story for him,” Darcy said, grinning in spite of herself. Several moments later, he returned with multiple trays.

“These are part of our 1895 collection,” he said. 

“1895,” Darcy repeated politely. She wondered if he was sad not to have sold the sapphire choker. She and Brock debated diamond shapes: round, princess cut, pear. “I do like the bigger round solitaire,” Darcy said, torn about a decision. It was two carats, basically the same round diamond as the légers, only bigger. “I could wear this to work, right?” she asked.

“Yes,” Brock said. “But it doesn’t seem right for you, sweetheart. Too plain.” Darcy nodded. She didn’t love it. She’d liked it as a smaller, floaty necklace more, oddly enough.

“It is also available in three-point-nine, carats,” the salesman said. She looked at Brock. 

“Which one do you like? Of these?” Darcy asked. She gestured at the trays. A strange expression flickered across his face. He moved several of them around, studying.

“That one.” He tapped one of the trays. He’d pointed to an emerald-shaped diamond solitaire. It surprised her that he liked that one. It was beautiful. The emerald was set vertically and the chain had smaller round diamonds spaced along the sides. There was something old-fashioned about it that she liked.

“That’s very Art Deco-looking,” she said. “Can I try it on?”

“A five carat, emerald cut diamond on a chain featuring bezel set diamonds,” the salesman said, sliding it around her neck. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, then at Brock.

“This is the one,” she said.

“Yeah?” Brock said, smiling.

“Yeah,” she said. “It seems more special.” 

“You’re sure you don’t want the sapphire choker?” he offered.

“God, no, this is enough, it’s perfect,” Darcy said, shaking her head. 

She wore the necklace when they left Cartier to go to dinner. They were doing the Eiffel tower later, Brock told her. She was hanging onto him in the dark, trying not be nervous about wearing such expensive jewelry. “How do you know about jewelry?” she wondered.

“Protecting rich people,” he said. “Also, some smuggling during my Crossbones period.”

“Ohhh,” Darcy said. “What kind of--?” He shook his head.

“Slightly classified. Did you want a Chanel handbag or something?” Brock offered. There was an ad on a column as they walked. “You’re under-budget at Cartier,” he added wryly.

“Phhhft, stop,” Darcy said. She lowered her voice. “Besides, I sorta think those quilted bags are ugly?” she added.

“Why are you whispering?” he said. He seemed in a good mood.

“Won’t the fashion police arrest me?” she joked. They peered in windows as they walked down the sidewalk. “There’s one thing I want to do. Or, two things,” she told him.

“Okay,” he said.

“Musée d’Orsay,” Darcy said.

“All right,” Brock said. “Cultured sugar baby shit.” Darcy laughed. “What else?” he said.

“Perfume day,” she said dreamily. 

“Good,” he said, looking pleased. 

“Can we go several places?” she asked. 

“Absolutely,” he said. He toyed with the ends of her scarf. “What about a French scarf?”

“Ooooh,” Darcy said.

“Now I’ve got your attention,” he said. Over dinner, they wrote out a plan: they would do perfume day tomorrow, then d’Orsay and scarves the next day. 

“I have to figure out where I want to go tomorrow first,” Darcy said. “I think Guerlain.” She doodled a little on their list. She had something in mind. How would he feel about it? He grinned as he poured her wine.

“You ready to go back to the hotel yet?” he said.

“Oh yeah,” Darcy said. He looked good under the romantic light of their restaurant. The golden gleam softened his scars, making him look tanned and relaxed. Also, she was tipsy. Parisians ate small portions. Her food-to-wine ratio was off. 

“Check please,” he said, jokingly holding up a finger to flag down the nearest waiter. 

They took a cab back to the hotel. He was kissing her even before they got the hotel door open. “The keycard is all wonky!” Darcy said, laughing.

“I got it,” he said, turning her to face him. She kissed his scarred neck as he scanned the card again, swearing. “Fucker,” he muttered. Her fingers trailed down his shirt front, feeling his muscles.

“Fuck me,” Darcy said, giddy. She cupped him and he moaned.

“Oh God, we’re locked out,” he said. “I don’t want to go to a French prison for indecency, but I could--”

“No?” she said archly. He swiped again, swearing. The card finally cleared with a beep.

“Thank fuck,” Brock said, pushing the door open and pulling Darcy in with him. She was stumbly. They stopped just inside the door, kissing almost frantically. He shed his coat. Darcy pulled her scarf off, dropping it on the floor.

“Leave the necklace on,” he murmured, pulling down her leggings and crouching on the floor. Then he grinned, looking at her panties. “You switched to the good underwear?” he said, tilting his head up to gaze at her.

“Mmmm-hmm,” she said, tousling his hair. She’d put on some of the lingerie he’d bought her in DC before they left for Cartier. “You missed a detail, Commander,” she teased, licking her lips. He shifted so he was kneeling at her feet.

“No,” he said, “you’re just too good to me, sweetheart.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss into the transparent lace. “You feel good enough to stand?” he said in a heated voice. Brock slid her underwear down slowly.

“Yeah,” she sighed. She clung to the wall behind her as he brushed her folds with his tongue. The sensation of his mouth and tongue felt incredible, especially in her relaxed state. She felt boneless and uninhibited. Darcy moaned out words of encouragement, telling him how good he felt, how she adored him. His tongue was deft. She felt his stubble scratch her thighs. “Oh God, oh God,” she cried, shuddering. Her legs shook and he coaxed her knees against his body.

“Lean on me,” he said warmly, fingers stroking the outside of her thighs. “Let me take care of you.”

“Okay,” Darcy said.

“Good girl,” he said. Then he dipped his mouth down again. 

  
***  
  


“You hate it, don’t you?” she said, waving the perfume tester strip under Brock’s nose the next morning. 

“What’s it called again?” Brock asked, leaning forward to sniff tentatively. He looked less than thrilled. 

“Shalimar,” she sighed, drawing out the name. Darcy loved Shalimar. It smelled powdery soft and sensual to her. She liked how the scent transformed on her skin from sharp citrus to rich, almost pillowy vanilla, the fan shaped bottle with its yellow and blue, even the history of it. Rita Hayworth had worn Shalimar. So had Frida Kahlo. They’d gone to Guerlain specifically for that, but she knew the powdery nineteen-twenties perfume wasn’t exactly accessible. She hadn’t replaced her little drugstore eau de toilette bottle--found in a New Mexico Walgreens and impulse purchased as a consolation prize after the loss of her iPod--because Jane had made faces and compared the top notes to medicine. “Jane doesn’t like it, either,” she added. “It’s not like my cake batter stuff, it’s...layered. It takes awhile to develop.”

“No, no,” he said. “If you like it, I want you to have it.”

“But I want you to like it,” she said. “Really like it.” She didn’t want him to lean in and be repulsed by how she smelled; he smelled amazing. She’d asked and he’d told her that he’d worn Obsession for men forever. She’d caught herself smelling the pillows and his clothes at home when he wasn’t around. 

“What do you like about it?” he countered, looking interested. “You wanted to come here. C’mon, tell me.” He waited for her to speak with a gleam in his eye. 

“It’s art,” she said. “It started the whole genre of oriental scents--things that are spicy and sweet? And that’s my favorite genre. That yumminess, the idea of smelling edible. You have to give it time, but it turns into this very dry, rich vanilla.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, grinning wolfishly. His scars twisted. He reached for the tester again. 

“It’s this incredibly _ present _scent, too. I feel veiled in it, in the same way that you get a boost out of wearing a really nice scarf.”

“Yeah?” he said, grinning.

“And, ohhh, oohhh, it’s absolutely Art Deco. This is literally what people smelled like in 1928 and aesthetically, I love that,” she told him. “Rita Hayworth and Frida Kahlo and all these glamorous, strong personalities…”

“Get it,” he said, grinning. He flagged down a sales associate and asked about bath products. When the employee told him the story about Guerlain naming the perfume for the gardens that Shah Jahan built for his wife, Brock looked at her.

“What?” Darcy said, expecting an eye roll. Instead, he looked amused.

“You could have led with that,” he teased. “That’s a great story.”

“She died!” Darcy said. “The Taj Mahal is a tomb, okay?”

  
  


“Babe, get over here, I need your opinion,” Darcy said, putting down the tester of Chanel perfume. Brock had wandered off in the store, after insisting they try some other perfumes she had on her wishlist. The Chanel store was beautiful, but intimidating. “What is he doing?” she wondered aloud. A sales woman named Monica was helping her. Monica smiled. It was clear she considered Darcy--leggings, scuffed boots, smudges on her glasses, too-curly hair--a lost cause, but Brock was to her liking. He was here to spend money. He had already picked out a pair of camellia-motif onyx and diamond earrings because he’d caught Darcy eyeing them in a moment of shopping weakness. 

“I believe he is buying you our red lipsticks with Irene,” she said. Her mouth quirked slightly. “We have many reds.”

“I do like red,” Darcy said. She sniffed the tester strip again. “Bois des Iles is soooo nice.” It was a smooth, luxuriously woody perfume from the nineteen-twenties, only available in the huge exclusif collection Chanel bottles. Still, Darcy was tempted….she sniffed again. It smelled like creamy sandalwood and ylang-ylang, lightened with a burst of aldehydes. 

“Very nice,” Monica said, appearing to rate Darcy slightly higher. “Perhaps you would also like to try the others?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. 

“What are we smelling?” Brock asked, coming to stand next to her. The other sales associate was carrying a basket of lipstick tubes. Darcy grinned. She loved lipstick, but she’d need to winnow that down a little.

“One of the exclusives. Bois des Iles,” she said, scrunching her nose. “What do you think?”

“This is nice,” he said. “Real nice.” She watched how he closed his eyes and concentrated. “But could it be stronger?” he asked. 

“You pick something,” Darcy said.

“You are letting him pick?” Monica said, looking faintly alarmed.

“He’s good, he found those earrings and my necklace,” Darcy said, touching her neck. “Besides, I want to see what you like,” she told Brock. 

“Hmm,” he said. He went through several testers. Chanel no. 19 he dismissed as “too sharp and green for you, baby.” 

“Yes,” Darcy said, nodding in agreement. She could see Pepper Potts in the chic, iris fragrance, but Darcy felt it was wrong for her: she didn’t iron her clothes enough to smell that crisp and organized. It would mess with her head. Brock tried several more things. Chanel Gardenia was too light, Beige was a little nondescript, and Allure too heavy and thick. 

Cuir de Russie reminded him of a “really nice car. They should pipe this into Ferraris or something,” he said, making Darcy smile. He was performing a little bit, but she could listen to his opinions and reactions all day. Chanel no. 5 was nice, but not right for her, according to Brock. Monica suggested something younger. He curled up his nose at Coco Mademoiselle. “Hmm,” he said, frowning.

“What is it?” Darcy asked. He was entertaining. 

“It clashes. I don’t know how things in one bottle clash, but that does,” he murmured, setting it down definitively. The original Coco, he liked better. “Lemme smell you again, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her wrist. She’d sprayed Shalimar inside her wrist before they left Guerlain. 

“Same scent family, about sixty years apart,” she joked, as he alternated between Shalimar and Coco. 

“Yeah?” he said, looking pleased with himself. “This one’s stronger,” he said, meaning the Chanel, “more spice or something? The Shalimar’s gone all smooth and sweet, I see why you like that now.” He sniffed the strip again. “This is bigger. Cloves? It reminds me of Christmas.” They looked to Monica. 

“Yes,” she said, “cloves.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, nodding. “I like that best of anything here. What’s the biggest bottle we can get?”

“Where are we going to put all this liquid?” Darcy wondered, thinking of the carry on limits.

“I’ll pad a checked bag,” he said. “I have a plan.”

“Okey dokey,” she said. She looked at the black-labeled Coco bottle as they wrapped it and the earrings and thought. Then she turned to Brock when they started on the lipsticks. “I don’t need all those lipsticks, let me send back the orange-reds.” They bickered lightly, but when she held up swatches next to her skin, he agreed. They compromised on three that she loved. “I just want a few,” Darcy said.

“She’s terrible at being spoiled,” he repeated cheerfully. Monica had talked him into a Coco-scented soap and a body cream and several gifts to be shipped from the New York store to his mother and sister while Darcy studied lipstick shades. He was an easy mark, Darcy fretted.

“You’re turning me all glamorous and fancy,” she said to Brock as they left the store. They were going to a scarf store she’d read about online called Diwali. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You _ are _ glamorous, I’m just giving you the right fucking budget. Or some of one.”

“Some of one?” Darcy said. “How much have you spent on this trip?” She was sure it was thousands of dollars at this point. The jewelry alone…..she felt queasy.

“I’m not counting,” he said wryly. “Has it not occurred to you yet that I should be dead?”

“Wh-what?” Darcy said.

“I should be dead,” he repeated, cupping her face. “Several times over. Very fucking dead. But I’m not in the ground, baby. I’m in Paris, with you, and I have disposable income that I want to spend--”

“What if--” she began.

“I spend it all?” he said, laughing. “I’ll let you run our damn household budget when I’m broke, sweetheart. You’d be good at it. Let’s go,” he said. “I want to see your eyes go all big when we get to this scarf store.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. 

Her eyes did go all big. It was like a jewel box with all the turquoise, pink, and blue scarves displayed in the window. She was touching a purple scarf from India embroidered with bronzy threads when she caught Brock smiling. “Okay, mister,” she said. “What would the full glamour budget look like?” 

He tilted his head, wrapped the purple scarf around her neck and grinned. “Bvlgari emeralds,” he said. “Good clothes, too. Dior, Versace, whatever you could dream of. Baby, let me take you to Bvlgari and shopping for clothes and then to dinner?”

“Brock,” Darcy said, feeling a strange wave of anxiety at the idea of him wanting to shower her in more and more luxury, of more stores and sales people looking at the scuffs on her shoes, and things she felt terrified to wear for fear she’d break them or spill something. “You can’t keep spending like this.”

“Why not? Honey, I have plenty of money,” he said. “Why not?”

“Because. Because this feels like something you’re doing out of an impulse and you’re not even keeping tabs on it”---he grimaced and Darcy took a deep breath--“because I don’t want it,” she finished, feeling sick.

“You don’t want my gifts?” he said, voice low.

“I like the perfumes and the museums and being here with you,” Darcy said. “But the jewelry you’ve already bought me makes me nervous. I can’t wear one of a kind couture or sapphires carved into parrots that’s even more expensive, it makes me scared.”

“Scared,” he repeated.

“I’ve been broke a long time. It makes you anxious about losing expensive things,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “Those earrings, I worry they’ll just slide out of my ears,” she admitted. She hadn’t put them on yet. They were so expensive. “You saw that picture of me in Jane’s earrings from Frigga, you didn’t see me being afraid I’d lose them all night.” 

“We could return them,” he said quietly, expression pained. “But you want the perfume?” She nodded yes. Those were a fraction of the price of the jewelry. 

“And I want you,” she said, touching his shoulders. He flinched a fraction, so she said it again. “I keep trying to tell you how in love I am. I don't need things to be happy with you. I already am.” He swallowed, looking grim.

“All right,” Brock said. “But get a scarf. I know you’ll wear a scarf.” 

“Okay,” Darcy said. She kissed him carefully. He was still. When she asked him which scarf, he paused. 

“The purple,” he said in a low voice. He was even quieter when they returned the earrings to Chanel. He asked her to wait in the cab while he went inside.

“Brock, wait,” she said, stopping him. “Don’t.” He looked at her quizzically. “I feel like I’m hurting you.”

“You are,” he said, sighing. That hit Darcy like a blow. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said immediately. She could feel tightness in her chest as she watched him for another reaction. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll live,” he said. He grinned at her and she felt some of her anxiety fade. He sat back, reached into the bag, and brought out the earrings. Instead of being angry, he looked thoughtfully at the box and back at her. “Keep ‘em. Wear ‘em. If they get lost, it’s not a big deal. Shit happens,” he said. He leaned up and told the cabbie to take them to a nearby coffee shop. As they passed rows of beautiful buildings, Brock looked at her. “Has somebody been angry with you for losing something expensive?” he asked carefully.

“I’ve been angry with myself,” she said, taking the earring box as he passed it to her. She opened it. The carved onyx flowers looked pretty, but delicate, somehow. Breakable. She didn’t know how to explain that she and Jane had once been so strapped for cash, living in London, that even going to a restaurant had counted as something special. That a few times, she’d made math mistakes with the bills that left them panicking. She looked at Brock.

“Here,” he said. “I’ll put ‘em in. If they fall out, I did it, not you.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “That takes some of the pressure off.” She blinked, trying not to cry, as he placed the earring wires gently in her ears. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always have a really fun time fake-shopping for characters, so here is a A List of Rather Splendid Things You Can Buy In Paris:
> 
> Scarves from Diwali, which looks like a very fun store--so bright! https://www.instagram.com/diwali_paris/?hl=en
> 
> A Cartier emerald-cut solitaire necklace: https://www.cartier.com/en-us/collections/jewelry/jewelry-selections/dazzle-in-a-white-gold-necklace/hp701147-high-jewelry-1895-necklace.html
> 
> Or a sapphire and diamond choker: https://www.cartier.com/en-us/collections/jewelry/jewelry-selections/dazzle-in-a-white-gold-necklace/h7000181-high-jewelry-necklace.html
> 
> Camellia earrings of carved onyx: https://www.chanel.com/us/fine-jewelry/p/J2937/camelia-earrings/
> 
> A bottle of Shalimar: https://www.guerlain.com/us/en-us/fragrance/womens-fragrances/shalimar-eau-de-parfum-spray


	15. When You've Shot Enough People, French Sales Associates Don't Scare You Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

They dropped off her perfumes and scarves at the hotel and Brock took her to lunch at a bistro. “What do you feel like?” he asked. They’d ordered water and wine already.

“Ummm, weirdly, arugula and pear salad?” she said. The idea of sharply sweet greens appealed to her. He nodded. 

“Duck?” Brock said.

“Sure,” she said. When he ordered a cheese plate, too, she turned her head. “Since when do you eat cheese?” she said playfully. Cheese wasn’t a part of his diet. She couldn’t understand how he was so disciplined.

“I don’t, but you do,” he said. “You need to eat more, too, probably.”

“Are you suggesting I got teary because I’m hungry?” Darcy said.

“Hungry, jet-lagged, possibly I haven’t let you sleep enough,” he said wryly, grinning at her. “We’ve been busy. Lots of reasons to get a little emotional on a big trip.” 

“True,” Darcy admitted. “I’m sorry--”

“Don’t feel bad,” Brock said. He smiled at her and looked ready to speak, but then the waiter brought out the wine and food and his attention shifted away for a second. Once the waiter was gone, he pushed the plate towards her. “Try that one,” he told Darcy said. He pointed to a creamy-looking cheese with his fork. “And don’t worry about things, baby,” Brock said softly.

“Okay,” Darcy said, feeling a mixture of relief and affection for him. He was being so gentle with her. She tried the cheese. It was delicious. “This is creamy,” she sighed.

“Yeah?” Brock said. He was eating some of the arugula salad. 

“Are you using me as a cheese surrogate?” she asked, noticing his close gaze on her mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, grinning. “I love watching you eat.”

“Seriously?” Darcy said, wanting to laugh.

“You enjoy your food, baby. Just like you enjoy your perfumes and your scarves and your twinkle lights,” he said. “Makes me happy.” That made her feel awful, paradoxically.

“Oh God, I’ve been bratty today, haven’t I?” she said, voice emotional.

“No, no,” Brock said, putting his hand on her arm. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, sweetheart. You’re just naturally more sensitive to things than me.”

“Oh, I am?” Darcy said, half-amused, half-sad. She dabbed at her eyes.

“You’re worried about losing things, the sales people make you feel funny, that’s all,” Brock said. He leaned in. “I’ve shot enough people that French sales associates don’t scare me anymore,” he told her, smirking. “It took time, but I could make Jack wear some kevlar, get you some practice…”

“Brock!” Darcy said, laughing. “No shooting Jack.”

“I’m still a litle fucking pissed at him for doubting you,” he said, stabbing his arugula with a fork.

“You never did,” she said in a soft voice. Brock looked up and his expression changed.

“A few times, I worried you might have trouble with the scars,” he admitted quietly.

“No, never,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Not even on our first date.”

“Yeah,” he said. He smiled slowly. The duck came. She wouldn’t have normally eaten duck, but French restaurants seemed to do it well. She ate more cheese, catching him looking at her.

“Did you want to try this?” Darcy offered. She’d dolloped some chèvre with figs and balsamic glaze on her bread. He shook his head.

“I’m thinking. You know, sweetheart,” Brock said. “We can, uh, stick with twinkle lights and mugs shaped like puppies, and, uh, hot cocoa for as long as you want, until you want something else specific--”

“Good,” Darcy said. She liked that plan.

“Or,” Brock said, pausing, “I could give you so many things that you aren’t intimidated anymore?” He smiled. “When you have lots of diamonds, you don’t need to be so careful about one necklace or one pair of earrings,” he said. 

“Oh my God, you’re just determined to spoil me,” she said, grinning in spite of herself. 

“I want to,” he said, voice going urgent. “I shouldn’t do less for you because you genuinely care about me, I keep saying--”

“To who?” Darcy wondered.

“Carter,” he said. “When we were buying you socks.”

“I love my socks,” Darcy said. “And you.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I just want”--he paused, seemed to want to get the words right, then looked at her intently--“I want you to know your worth,” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy said, pulling a goofy face. “That doesn’t sound intimidating  _ at all.”  _

“C’mon,” he said. 

“All right,” she said, extending her hand. “Give me money.”

“Really?” Brock said, looking delighted. 

“Yes, however many Euros I need to use the bathroom,” she said. He burst out laughing. He was still smiling when she left the table, looking back at him for a second. When she came back from the bathroom, Brock was doing something with his phone. “Did you find somewhere with good chocolate?” she asked, sitting down. That was one thing she wanted to do after d’Orsay tomorrow.

“I’m working on that one,” he said, “but I ordered you a book on Cartier and a couple more on Paris. Ebooks,” he clarified.

“To read now?” Darcy said, confused. She was a fast reader, but not  _ that  _ fast.

“No,” he said, grinning. “For the next trip. You like research.”

“You want me to like Cartier by the next time we’re here?” she said.

“Sure. You want to do Ladurée tomorrow?” he asked. “The macaron people? I can make a reservation.”

“Oooh, yeah,” Darcy said.

“Can I lure you to back the Champs Elysées tonight?” he bartered.

“More shopping?” she said. 

“They have perfume there,” he said, in what she assumed was a deceptively mild voice. “We didn’t go anywhere but Guerlain.”

He took her to Marionnaud. “This is...amazing,” Darcy said, looking around the perfume store. Shelves and shelves of perfume looked back at her. “It’s like Sephora on steroids. You read about this online?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “What do you want to try first?”

“Everything,” she said dreamily. They had fun. She coaxed more opinions out of Brock: he didn’t like aquatics, or sharply green scents, and he hated the transparent floral-musks, like Narciso Rodriguez.

“What the fuck is that? It reminds me of tactical glue,” he said, making Darcy laugh. Dior Addict was “fucking delicious, you’ve got to get that,” he said, putting a bottle in her basket. He liked things that were rich and sweet, she was figuring out. Addict was a bourbon vanilla and sandalwood. It was ironic, considering he didn’t eat sweets. 

“Okay,” Darcy said, getting an idea. “Did I make you smell Samsara at Guerlain?”

“No,” he said. She dragged him over to a tester. 

“This is like, the sandalwood to end all sandalwoods,” she told him. “With jasmine. It’s very big, very strong, and almost tropically hot.” He smelled a tester strip, closing his eyes.

“Baby,” he said. “That’s the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever smelled.” Darcy laughed and barely restrained him from going back to Guerlain. 

“No, no,” she said. “I have to use my Shalimar and my Coco and whatever else you’ve stuck in this basket.” She looked down. “What is this?” she said, picking up a box containing a deep pink bottle in the shape of a bow, next to the Addict.

“I liked it,” he said, “it looked like you.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. It was called BonBon.

“The saleswoman said it smelled like caramel,” he said. “You’d like that.”

“We’ll get the littlest bottles of these and save Samsara for the next trip,” she bargained. She was used to buying the smallest available size of everything or begging samples. Sometimes, stores would make you a little sample vial.

“Sure,” he said. “But keep the big bottles.”

“Are you lying to me?” Darcy asked, narrowing her eyes. 

“Possibly,” he said, smirking. But it was endearing that he had such enthusiasm. She was used to Jane’s benign disinterest in her hobbies and Ian’s snarking that her rollerballs and minis would go bad or break in transit. She felt weirdly elated that he wasn’t dismissive.

“Okay, fine,” she said, setting down the Addict back in the basket. “You like this, right? You won’t mind if I have to use up this giant bottle?” 

“Oh, yeah,” he said. 

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” he said. 

“I’m putting back this BonBon, though,” she said. He sighed and watched as she returned it to the shelf. “I know,” she said. “I know, I’m being a total funsucker.” He grinned.

“Not entirely,” he said, kissing the top of her head. Darcy got in trouble because she asked a salesperson about Bvlgari perfumes at the register. It turned out Marionnaud didn’t carry them, but there was a Bvlgari store nearby. “We’ll go,” Brock said. 

“I thought we were doing Eiffel Tower tonight,” she said, grinning at how quickly he’d spoken. She wanted to see it at night, all lit up. 

“We can do this first,” he said, reaching for his wallet.

“I’m really afraid my suitcase won’t pass inspection,” she said, as they walked down the Champs-Elysées. “Isn’t it highly flammable at this point?” He laughed. 

“I’ve got it covered,” Brock said. 

“How?” she said.

“Years of smuggling booze on quinjets in contradiction of SHIELD regs,” he said smoothly.

  
  


“I didn’t notice this place before,” Darcy admitted, when they stepped inside the Bvlgari store. The exterior storefront was subtle enough that she hadn’t paid attention, but the inside was like stepping inside a jewelbox. Gold tiles on the stone floor, orange curtains that seemed to glow with warmth, and heavy marble jewelry counters and walls. Warm.

“I like it,” Brock said, carrying her Marionnaud bag. 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. Of course, he did, it made him look tan. He moved towards a jewelry counter. “Are you angling to buy me more jewelry?” Darcy asked. Her voice came out more amused than frustrated; she couldn’t be upset with him after cheese and perfume. Goat cheese and those little paper testers were her kryptonite. He looked at her. “Why can’t I be mad at you?” she said.

“I love you,” he said, holding her waist with his free hand. 

“Ugh,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder. “Unfair charm and handsomeness.”

“See anything you like?” he asked. Darcy let herself browse without worrying about prices for a minute. 

“Yes,” she said. His face lit up.

“Tell me,” he said. 

“I think we should buy you a swanky watch, Brock,” she said, grinning, pointing out a dark watched that glinted with gold. “This is very you,” she said.

“Hey,” he said. “You tricked me.” 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. He had her try on a gorgeous emerald and diamond necklace in a fan pattern, but Darcy demurred. “So expensive,” she whispered at her reflection.

“It looks good, though,” Brock countered. The diamonds and pear-shaped emeralds sparkled against her skin. “Really good.”

They left Bvlgari without emeralds, although she did pick him out a watch, which seemed to make him happy. He could have the luxury items, she thought. They looked right on him. He was more elegant than she was, just naturally. It was in the way he moved forward without any hesitation, in his body language, his strength. “You think I’m an emerald person?” Darcy wondered, as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” he said. “You are.” He practically smoldered at her.

“Liz Taylor was an emerald person, Angelina Jolie is an emerald person,” Darcy said, laughing. 

“You’re just as beautiful as them,” he insisted. 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “Sure. How much wine did you have at lunch?” 

“You are,” he said. They walked down the street. She scoffed and he squeezed her. “More beautiful,” he said in a low voice.

“It’s so weird to me that they have a Tiffany’s and Adidas and McDonald’s here,” she said in wonder. “Those are so American.”

“I could technically buy emeralds the next time I’m in Latin America for work,” he mused. Darcy laughed.

“I’d much rather go to Venice,” she told him.

“Yeah? What brought that on?” he said, brightening.

“That Angelina Jolie movie? Great locations, silly plot. I do want to go to Venice sometime, it looks beautiful,” she said. “I never get to go anywhere without observatories. I want to have bellinis, see some Tintorettos and Titians.” He smiled. “What?” Darcy said.

“You’re very cultured,” he said dryly. “My mother will wonder how I landed you and be very impressed,” Brock said.

“I’m meeting your mother?” Darcy said, alert. “When?”

“Whenever you feel like it,” he said. 

“What’s she like?” Darcy asked. He paused a little, seeming to choose his words carefully. “What?” she said.

“I have to warn you, Ma is very...dramatic,” he said.

“Oh, no, not your mother,” Darcy said teasingly.

“I’m not kidding. She’s had about half-a-dozen husbands,” he said. 

“Oooh, that is dramatic,” Darcy said.

“She married my father twice. She, uh, used to model in the sixties. With Martha Stewart,” he added. “She, uh, loves clothes.”

“Oh God,” Darcy said, realization dawning, “your mother is glamorous and beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” he said. “How’d you know?” 

“I’ve met you!” Darcy said. He looked at her for a second, seemingly puzzled. “Because you’re glamorous and beautiful?” she told him. Brock laughed. There was an edge to it.

“I  _ used _ to be beautiful, maybe,” he murmured.

“Ridiculous,” Darcy said. “You still are. You’ve got more charisma and magnetism than me on a regular Tuesday. You do.” This she was sure of. The scars hadn’t dented his appeal; if anything, she thought the Parisians she caught checking him out were intrigued by Brock’s looks. He shook his head. 

“No, sweetheart,” he said.

“Hank Pym is jealous of you---and your acid wash jeans,” she said. Brock grinned.

“You think so?” he said in a pleased voice.

“Also, Jack Rollins is wildly possessive of you,” she added.

“He likes me all right,” Brock said.

“I went to bed with you on our first date,” Darcy supplied. 

“You did,” Brock said. By the next block, he was looking smug. Darcy thought that even his hair looked a little bigger. 

He brought up how beautiful she was again at dinner, after looking between her and his new watch with obvious happiness. “I just think you’re so beautiful, sweetheart, you deserve good things. Jane can have beautiful things, but you can’t?” he said. Darcy smiled around her fork.

“It is wildly clear that you’ve never met Jane,” Darcy said cheerfully. 

“Yeah?” he said. “Why?”

“I have literally had to sneak into her bedroom to throw out her rattiest, holiest underwear,” Darcy said. “She mostly wears plaid shirts with ink stains and jeans with holes in the knees.”

“Seriously?” he said, tilting his head. “She’s not into nice things, even though her boyfriend’s a fucking prince?” Darcy nodded firmly.

“Yup,” she said, “Jane would forget to eat if I wasn’t around to remind her. Speaking of, I should probably text her about that today. We texted yesterday, I sent her photos of the Louvre.” She took out her phone and tapped a message, biting her lip. “And remind her about combing her hair, she gets knots,” she added. Brock laughed and poured her more champagne. “Jane does appreciate nice muscles, though. That’s one thing that both of us appreciate.” She grinned and squeezed his knee under the table. 

“Eiffel tower?” he said. 

“Yes,” Darcy said. 

***

“It’s so beautiful,” Darcy said, sounding delighted, as they got out of cab he’d called. He shut the door. The cabs here were mostly nice German cars, which had been a pleasant surprise. He wanted Darcy to be comfortable. More than comfortable, spoiled. Adored. It bothered him--like an itch in his tactical boots during a mission--that she resisted his efforts to shower her in luxury. He suspected she’d made her wants small on purpose, based on her past money struggles with Jane. At least he could do this, he thought. Maybe he’d look into time off for Venice when they got back to DC. He hadn’t been, either, not even for work. It would be enjoyable to hide away with her again, just the two of them. A selfish part of him wanted to sneak off with her all the time, not be bothered by the outside world. Work. Missions. Reports. He reached for her hand. He’d never thought he would not want the adrenaline rush of work, but he got the same thrill out hearing her voice in the dark.

“Excited?” he said. She was beaming in happiness. He enjoyed watching the play of expressions across her face, the way she lit up at a perfume store. Or the glittering landmark in front of them. 

“So excited!” she said. Brock smiled. You had to get out of the car some distance away, so they walked towards the Eiffel tower slowly. They had a clear view of it sparkling in the dark. The lights twinkled. As they got closer she stopped and stared up. The Eiffel Tower was huge and dark, up close. The iron feet soared above them. “Wow,” she said.

“Yeah. You wanna go to the top?” Brock asked.

“Ummmmmm,” Darcy said. She’d gone pale, he thought.

“What?” he said, frowning in concern.

“I’m a little afraid of heights!” she said, laughing.

“I’ll hold onto you,” he said, smirking. “Lower level, then?”

“Okay,” she said slowly. They rode the elevator up into the iron fretwork. Darcy was visibly nervous when they stepped off. It was windy this high off the ground. “Please hold onto me,” she said. “Seriously.” He could tell she was shaking even before he wrapped his arms around her.

“I gotcha,” he said. “I’m not letting go.”

“You better not!” she said. 

“I won’t.” He tickled her and she shrieked.

“That was so mean!” she was still saying, when they went back at the hotel for the night. He heard her splash inside the tub and opened the door.

“I couldn’t resist,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. She was covered in Coco-scented foam, skin pink and dewy. She looked irresistible. Though she’d clipped up her hair, a few damp curls clung to her neck and fell around her face. Brock leaned against the door. He liked just looking at her, studying those dazzling blue-green eyes. Sometimes, they seemed a dark, slate blue; but in sunshine, they could be the color of the Medditeranean, leaning turquoise. She grew pink-cheeked under his gaze. He was still astonished by her curves and the milk-paleness of her skin in places the sun didn’t touch. Darcy smiled at him---and dear God, that full upper lip was frankly erotic. He didn’t think he’d ever stop wanting her. Needing her. Loving her. It wasn’t just that she was sexy, it was her sweetness towards him, her enjoyment of life that pulled him in. 

“Get in here with me,” she said, waving at him coaxingly. He paused, shook his head. “Why not? Please?” Darcy said, leaning over the side of the tub. He saw a flash of pink brown nipple under the veil of foam. He licked his lips, then caught himself. “You don’t want to?” she asked, voice teasing.

“Oh, I do,” he said, seriously tempted, “but I have commitments.”

“Fine,” Darcy said, pouting elaborately. “You’re just determined to be mean to me.” He grinned at her tone. There was no fire in it. She flicked water playfully in his direction and he dodged.

“Hey, no splashing,” he said. The phone by the bed rang. “That’ll be for me,” Brock said. 

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhh,” Darcy said. “Mean!”

“Hello?” he said on the phone, smiling.

“The package is downstairs, sir,” one of the hotel staff said in his ear. 

“Merci,” he said politely, then leaned into the bathroom. “Going downstairs for something, sweetheart.”

“Fine, leave me here, all warm and naked and...soapy,” she called, as he left.

“Not for long, angel,” he called back.

  
  


He carried the box upstairs, smiling. She was lying on the bed, completely nude, when he returned. He paused, surveying the scene. There was music playing from her travel speaker. Accordion music. She’d told him that she liked that. She was on her belly. He let his eyes move from her calves up her body slowly: soft thighs, rounded ass, fleshy back. He set the box on the dresser. “Hello,” Darcy said, “I’m very busy reading my vacation enrichment.” That was when he realized she was reading on her tablet, She moved her toes. “Thoughts?” 

“I love your ass,” he said, gazing down at her. He palmed at her with his scarred, heavy fingers. Dragged them up her, kneading her back. She was soft. Lush. Giggling, she wiggled from side to side. 

“That’s nice,” she sighed. 

“Don’t roll over,” he said, pulling his shirt off. She smelled spicy. Arousing.

“Ohh,” Darcy said, as he undressed and reached for his condoms. “Someone’s happy.” She reached over and stroked his dick playfully. He’d been half-hard since he walked in. “Wait, don’t put that on yet,” she said. “C’mere. I want you in my mouth.”

“You do, huh?” Brock asked. She moved closer, rolling over on her side to face him. Lying down, the height of the bed made her level with his crotch. He watched, inhaling in anticipation, as she leaned forward, hair tumbling, to gently grasp the base of his dick. Her fingers were impossibly white and small against the scarred, sensitive flesh. He groaned. It felt good whenever she touched him. “You gonna tease me tonight?” he bit out.

“Tease you?” Darcy smirked, then craned her head forward and swirled her tongue lightly over the tip of his dick. The flutter soft, damp sensation made him jerk involuntarily. Darcy hummed as she took him into her mouth slowly. One of his favorite sounds. He loved her sounds like he loved her wickedly curving mouth. The position was new, however. Being able to touch her breasts so easily as she sucked him.

“You know you do,” he said. She knew exactly what he liked, this teasing slowness, her mouth pushing up his skin. He was fascinated by watching himself disappear inside her. His dick was traced with burn scars, but that didn't seem to bother her. She slid her mouth back and licked him, tongue notching into a deep scar on the underside of his dick. He shuddered. It was a sensitive spot, thrilling. “Oh God, sweetheart,” he stuttered out. He felt his body tighten as she switched to faster movement, then slowed and returned to playfully licking him again. The cool air against his skin was half-pleasure, half-agony. He was afraid he’d come on her face. “Oh God,” he said, “get on your knees. Get on your knees.” He’d growled out the words. Darcy giggled and let him go, positioning herself so her toes dangled off the bed. 

“Well?” she said, looking back. She was so playful, even in an absurd position.

“You goddamn minx,” he said. He got the condom on hastily and shoved himself inside her in his eagerness. “Christ, you’re so tight. You okay?” He didn't want sex to hurt her, ever. It was one of his fears that he’d lose control of his serum-enhanced strength and injure her. Frighten her or hurt her, somehow, with his body. She looked over her shoulder at him, expression untroubled.

“Fuck me,” she said, voice eager. “Don’t hold back.” He swallowed, feeling himself go slightly dizzy with want. “Brock,” she said, pitching her voice into a keen. “I need you.”

“Yeah,” he said, seizing her hips and beginning to move. He fucked her so eagerly that he came within a few thrusts. Groaning, he slumped. “Shit. Fuck.” He’d half-collapsed on top of her. 

“Oof,” Darcy said, giggling. When he made to move, she bleated. “Don’t pull out.”

“You want me in you?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said,

“Baby, the condom could break,” he fretted.

“Just stay a little while,” she begged. He couldn't deny her. It dawned on him that he wouldn't mind if she was pregnant. The thought startled him. Then it made him hard again. 

“If the fucking condom breaks,” he murmured, kissing her neck lightly, “you’re going to be so goddamn pregnant.” Darcy turned her head, grinning.

“So?” she said archly. She was teasing him again. Then she fumbled under her body. He realized she was touching herself hastily. He jerked his hips again, making her gasp. 

“You like that--” his voice was rough--"you like me inside you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moaned, arching in response. He pushed her to a shuddering, vocal climax. 

He was surprised that the condom didn't break. He told her when he got out of bed. “That’s probably a good thing,” she said. “So goddamn pregnant sounds less fun than regular pregnant.” He laughed.

“SHIELD tech is useful sometimes,” he said, climbing back into bed to hold her. “I have a fantasy,” he admitted, as they lay together in the dark. He kissed her shoulders. He’d been thinking.

“Hmmm?” Darcy said drowsily. She was always sleepy after sex. 

“I want to spoil you, decorate you, parade you around--”

“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding amused.

“So, wherever you go, people will look at you and want you, but I’ll be the person who gets to touch you. Fuck you,” he said. “Just me, getting to see you like this. You coming for me.”

“You want me to wear emeralds to provoke the jealousy of other men?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She giggled. “That seems like a waste of money, but okay.”

“Also, you deserve them,” he added. She started to laugh.

“You’re ridiculous, but I love you,” she said. “What’s in the box?”

“Surprise,” he said. “You want it now or at breakfast?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and happy holidays!


	16. Would You Like To Come, Sweetheart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Darcy woke up to the sensation of Brock kissing her breasts. Brock’s arms surrounded her, heavy and muscular. They were pleasantly entwined. She ran her hands over his scarred biceps, enjoying the warmth of his body heat. “Hey,” she said, delighted. He smirked up at her, gently sucking her nipple. “Ohhhh,” she breathed out, “that feels so good.” His tongue rolled over her nipple and she shuddered, automatically widening her legs. He shifted and she felt how hard he was, his dick pressing into her inner thigh.

“You feel so soft,” he said, sighing. He dotted more kisses on her skin, stubble rough.

“I love that,” she said dreamily. She raked her fingers through his hair, ruffling and tugging until he grinned up at her. 

“Get me those condoms, baby,” he said, chin resting on her breast. 

“No,” she said pertly. 

“No? Why not?” His eyes--brown with flecks of emerald green--practically gleamed. Darcy giggled.

“More foreplay,” she demanded. She squeezed her thighs against his hips. She felt a warm, throbbing heat between her legs.

“That what you want?” Brock said. He slid his tongue over his upper lip, smirking. “You want that?” he repeated. He rested his weight on her a little more, expression teasing.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and biting her lip. His dick nudged her thigh, warm and thick. “Oh God,” Darcy moaned. “You feel so good.”

“But you don’t want me yet?” he said, voice low and raspy. He cupped her breasts, thumbing at her nipples in a slow, teasing motion. His eyes drifted between her face and her body.

“Go down on me,” she said, trying to keep the eager, whiny note out of her voice.

“You want me to eat your pussy, sweetheart?” Brock said. “You gonna say please?”

“Pl-please,” she stuttered out. He smirked. Planting a kiss on her chest, he laughed, then pressed a line of kisses down her belly. His tongue circled her belly button. He reversed directions, eyes flashing at her. “Oh my God, you’re just fucking with me,” Darcy moaned. She rocked her hips in encouragement.

“Yes, I am,” Brock said in a smug voice. He nuzzled at her pubic hair gently, then looked up at her with a grin. “I’ll make sure to take my time,” he said, a mock-solemn voice that made her realize he was planning something.

“Motherfreaking--you’re killing me,” Darcy hissed, some ten minutes later. Brock laughed, face still between her legs. He’d been engaging in the world’s most delicate oral sex initiative. Feather-light, tortuously slow, almost fussy. “I’m going to die,” she muttered. He kept getting her close and then shifting to kiss her knees or her inner thighs, smirking and dragging his stubble over her skin. She ached with frustration. Darcy tugged his hair. “Just let me come,” she begged, arching her back as he pulled away teasingly again. “Please,” she said. She yanked his hair. He grinned. 

“You need some help to get there?” he asked. She nodded urgently.

They missed their Ladurée reservation. 

Not that Darcy minded. She was too zonked out after sex to think about food. Or anything. When she woke up, he was in a bathrobe and had just answered the door to room service. It was nearly noon. “Whaa?” she said blearily, going for her glasses.

“We slept through Ladurée, sweetheart. Get up and have some breakfast and I’ll take you to d’Orsay,” he said. He must’ve showered without her; his hair was damp.

“Oh,” Darcy said. She stretched slowly, yawning. “You know, this is more what I thought our vacation would be like, staying in bed until we have to get up and go to museums,” she told him. He tossed her a robe. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. As opposed to?” he said.

“You being a shopaholic,” she teased, pouring milk into her coffee. She’d figured out the ratio was half-milk, half-coffee for the dark roast to be quaffable. They made it strong here. 

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Guilty as charged. Speaking of,” he said, reaching for the cardboard box on the dresser. He took something smaller out and tossed it to her.

“Ahhh! You know I’m a terrible catcher,” she said, fumbling and finally grasping the small blue box in her hands.

“Nah, you’re a great catch,” he said cheerfully.

“Throwing things at me,” she muttered. Then she looked down and realized it was a jewelry box. Thankfully, a small one. With a velvet box inside. For one slightly scary, slightly thrilling moment, it registered that this could be a ring box. “Oh,” she repeated, looking at him. 

“Open it,” he said, smiling. For sure he wouldn’t propose like that, she thought. Would he? No, he wouldn’t. He was too romantic for that. She opened the box with nervous fingers, holding her breath. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. It was an Eiffel tower charm on a thin chain. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “What made you pick this?”

“I decided to go back to what worked so well on our first date, baby,” Brock said. “Something small and cute in a little box.” 

“I love it,” she said, genuinely thrilled. “I’m going to wear it today.”

***

“What do you want to see?” Brock asked, as they stood in the Musée d’Orsay. He had his arm around her as she beamed at their surroundings. The museum was located in converted train station and pretty swank-looking, he thought, studying the turn-of-the-century clock and glass arches above his head.

“Van Gogh, Degas, Renoir, Seurrat,” she parroted out. He helped elbow her through the crowd around Van Gogh’s “Starry Night over the Rhone” and then stood so no one would bump her. It was a beautiful painting, all blues and yellows. The were close enough to see thick dabs of cobalt and orange paint. He held Darcy’s waist and she leaned back against him. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked him. 

“Sure,” he said, eyes on her delighted face. He didn’t really care about art, but it made her happy. She loved those blues, she told him. They moved through the crowded museum. Of course, she loved everything they saw: Monet’s smudged-paint flowers, Renoir’s sun-dappled crowds, the hazy landscapes, and groupings of ripe peaches. They spent more than two hours just wandering around. He let Darcy take the lead. It was easier to find things in this place, Brock thought; he only had to glare at a tourist who took a selfie of himself with a turn of the century nude--basically a close up painting of model’s crotch--and then leered at Darcy. She was so dazzled by all the art, she hadn’t noticed. They proceeded to Degas’s ballerinas and Gauguin’s tropics. 

“Oh, wow,” Darcy said, sighing. “Degas. Aren’t those colors gorgeous?”

“Why are the ballerinas so fucking pale?” he wondered. The dancer’s skin was white shading into green. She looked like a ghost. Darcy laughed.

“I think it’s the crazy footlights they had back then. Pre-electric gas lights, maybe? Don’t quote me, though, I’m just vaguely remembering my Culver survey course,” she told him. She led down another corridor. “But these are my favorites--_ pointilisme. _Little dots. No brushstrokes, just dots. Isn’t that fantastic?”

“Dots,” he said. Brock leaned in to look closely. They were dots. Actual damn dots. “Holy fuck. How long did that take?”

“A loooong time,” Darcy said. “Ugh, I love this place.” 

“Sure,” he said mildly. Even if he wasn’t an art guy, he could tell this was a nice museum. Even the weird little pieces of furniture and sculpture were interesting. Visually. His thoughts were interrupted when Darcy squeaked.

“Oh my God,” she said. “Henri Rousseau! I think he worked at a post office. Or was it a train station?” Darcy said, more to herself, as she beelined for a canvas. He followed, chuckling. “I need to find the Klimt, there’s one somewhere,” she said to him. “It’s a tree.”

“A tree?” he said.

“A really good tree, according to my phone,” she said. He must’ve made a sound. “What?” she said. 

“You’re very cute,” he said, stopping her to tilt up her chin and place a light kiss on her red-lipsticked mouth. She smelled like Shalimar today. “You smell good, too.”

“Mmm-hmm, it felt right for this place,” Darcy whispered. He nodded.

“You wanna stop at Ladurée after this? But no rush,” he said. She smiled brightly.

"Absolutely."

They ended up visiting more than the famous macaron shop. Darcy wanted to hit some bakeries near the museum. He didn’t even eat pastry, but Darcy talked him into a pistachio thing at a place called Du Pain et des Idées. “This is the size of my head,” Brock said, holding the circular pastry skeptically.

“Just try it, I’ll eat the rest,” she said. “Doesn’t it smell amazing here?” He nodded. The whole place did smell delicious. This was going to fubar his gym metrics, Brock though. She wandered off to stare at the pastry cases. Brock looked at the huge pastry in his hand. He sighed. Took a bite--and sighed again. It was delicious. The sugar hit his tastebuds, low and sweet, and the almond, nutty flavor of the pistachio practically melted on his tongue. Shit. He was eating sugar again.

“Oh, man,” he said, mouth full. His phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Maria Hill’s face looked back at him. “Hey--” he answered.

“Do you have rocks in your mouth?” Maria said dryly.

“Pastry,” he mumbled. 

“What?” she said, sounding amused.

“I’m eating pastry.”

“You’re kidding, Rumlow.”

“Darcy likes bakeries,” he said, swallowing. “Please don’t tell me you’re recalling me from my vacation, Maria?” At the counter, Darcy was leaning down, nose practically against the glass. 

“No,” she said crisply. “This is actually about a promotion.” 

“Oh,” Brock said. “What promotion?” He wasn’t up for anything.

“Fury wants you to work with the Joint Training Center in Berlin,” Maria said. “Help with new agent training. For the next six months.”

“Six months,” Brock said. He was looking at Darcy. “I’d be away from DC for the next six months?”

“But you’d be back by September,” his supervisor answered smoothly.

“September,” he repeated, voice hollow. Across the bakery, Darcy was asking about the snail shaped fruit pastries. He felt himself grimace.

“Escargot fruits rouges,” she sounded out slowly and carefully. Then she caught his eye and beamed widely.

“How long do I have to decide?” he asked, closing his eyes.

“Fury wants to hear back tonight,” Maria said.

“Yeah. All right. I’ll call him later.”

  
  


“You don’t mind my art mania, do you?” Darcy asked him at dinner. She toyed with the delicate Eiffel tower on her neck. They were having steak-frites. Well, he was confining himself to steak. She was very good at handling potatoes for him. He appreciated that about her, too. 

“No,” Brock said. He poured more wine. “Not at all. It’s nice. Fancy shit.” Playfully, she stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed. Brock wasn’t lying; he’d been thinking about their relationship since Hill’s call. Trying to remember what he did with women before he’d been injured. Mostly, he’d dated other agents. They’d seen each other between missions, had sex, and talked about report formatting and likelihood of a federal hiring freeze. He’d kept women at arm’s length during his HYDRA undercover work. There’d been no real intimacy, just so Pierce wouldn’t have someone to use as leverage against him. After Triskelion and his Crossbones work, getting back out there had seemed daunting. He hadn’t had the energy for rejection as he he healed--or the ability when Fury asked him to pose as a mercenary for more than a year. Once he’d regained his ability to work under his real name, pardoned and sinking back into his normal routine in DC, he hadn’t know what to do with himself in his off hours. Now he had almost more intimacy than he knew what to do with: not just physical contact, but the ability to confide in Darcy whenever he felt lousy, to talk about his past and his injuries. Not that he felt lousy all that often. He used to. Now his emotions were oddly...buoyant. Just fucking cheerful. And since when was he cheerful? It had to be her. He looked at Darcy. How could he leave her? 

She was staring out the window. Her eyes went wide. “It’s snowing,” she said, delighted. He turned to follow her gaze. Light, icy-looking flakes fell outside. She raised her phone to snap a few photos.

“Look at that,” he murmured, then realized she was holding the phone camera his way. 

“Lean over, I’m getting you in a shot,” she said. She’d been insistent that they take a few selfies together. 

“Me, huh?” he said. She took a few.

“Got ‘em. My very handsome, charming, generous, heroic boyfriend,” she said scrunching her nose. It was one of his favorite--at least publicly viewable--things that she did, that expression.

“Where’s he at?” Brock joked, looking over his shoulder. Would someone else replace him if he left DC? He felt his shoulders tighten. Relax your jaw, he reminded himself.

“Ha ha, very cute,” she said. “I’m going to sit in your lap now, be really obnoxious.”

“All right,” he said. She was poised on his knee, getting awkwardly silly, too-close snaps of them, when he rubbed her thigh. “You warm enough?” he asked, a sinking feeling descending on him.

“My leggings are thermal,” she said.

“You got enough food?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, planting a kiss on his scarred ear. 

“Wine?” he offered. Fuck, he was sad and he hadn’t even left her yet.

“I’m good.” She giggled.

“Jewelry?”

“Completely covered,” she said.

“Perfume?” he asked.

“I could swim in it,” she said, laughing enough for an elderly couple at a nearby table to side-eye them. 

“Sex?” he said in a lower voice.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Never enough with you around.”

“Good,” he said, stealing a fry.

“I saw that!” Darcy said. She tilted her head at him. “There’s one thing I want.”

“Yeah?” He would give her anything she wanted.

“You. With me,” Darcy declared. He sighed. “What’s wrong?” Darcy asked. 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Musée d'Orsay stuff here: https://artsandculture.google.com/partner/musee-dorsay-paris
> 
> Photos of that delicious-looking patisserie: https://www.yelp.com/biz_photos/du-pain-et-des-id%C3%A9es-paris-10-2?start=30


	17. Fury Made You An Offer You Can't Refuse...As Long As You Like Bratwurst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Fury wants me to take a training job in Berlin,” Brock told her carefully, his hands on her waist as she sat in his lap. “A promotion. It’d mean six months in Germany, but I don’t want to be away from you--” he was saying, when Darcy frowned.

“But do you want the job?” she asked, interrupting.

“Not if it means we’re apart and I have to leave you in DC,” he said.

“But would you be good at it?” she asked. He nodded, then sighed. The waiter hovered with more cheese as a final course. “Oh. _ Merci beaucoup,” _ she said, at his stare. He sat the cheese down, frowning. “I think we’re committing a _ faux pas,” _Darcy said. She didn’t get up, though; instead, she rubbed his shoulder. “But you should take the job, we’ll make it work.” Brock sighed again. He knew she'd say that.

“You want me to take it, really?” he asked. 

“Babe,” she said, “if we can do this trip, I can fly out to visit you on weekends or holidays--”

“Good point,” he admitted. 

“And there’s tons of ways to stay in touch. We can SHIELDSkype, we can talk on the phone, you could write me romantic letters,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. He grinned.

“Is that a bid for love letters?” he asked.

“Yup,” she said, spontaneously kissing him. 

“Message received,” he whispered, as she smiled against his mouth. 

“Nobody’s ever written me letters, I’d totally want some,” Darcy added, pulling back. “Do you know, the Emperor Napoleon wrote Josephine letters where he told her he was coming home and asked her not to wash?”

“What?” Brock said.

“He liked it when she was a little skanky, apparently,” Darcy said. “Totally French.”

“Okay,” Brock said, laughing in spite of himself. “You think we can do this?”

“Completely,” she said. “I don’t even know why you’re worried. I’m going to drive you crazy on Skype. You’ll be sick of me.”

“I don’t think it would be possible for me to be sick of you,” he told her. He clasped her face and she kissed him again.

“We’re gonna be okay,” she said. 

“Yeah,” he said. They smiled at each other. “Don’t forget your cheese,” Brock added.

“Ooooh, cheese!” Darcy said. 

He called Fury that night, back at the hotel. “I’ll take the job, but I have one condition,” Brock said into the phone receiver. He could hear Darcy splashing in the tub.

“Oh, yeah?” Fury said. “We’re negotiating, when I know how much money you’ve got? You motherfucker.” His voice was incredulous.

“I earned that money and you know it,” Brock said, laughing. “You’re just pissed I lived and you had to pay me percentage for everything I recovered, instead of me kicking the bucket on the second job.” He leaned against the bed’s headboard and smiled.

“Do you know what my budget tally was?” Fury said dryly. “It’s the reason your ass is in Paris and I vacation in Florida.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said.

“How much more do you want?” Fury said.

“I don’t want money, I want you to give Darcy more vacation time, so she can visit me,” Brock said.

“You want your girlfriend to have more days off?” Fury said.

“Technically, it’s free. I’ll even forgo a percentage of my normal salary, if that helps,” he offered, eyes on the window. Outside, Paris looked wonderful. Fury started to laugh. “What?” Brock said.

“Love is making you soft,” Fury said. “I can’t believe I lived to see this damn day.”

"Yeah, yeah," Brock said. He got all the details of his travel arrangements and start date. Then he sat quietly and looked out the window.

“Did it go well?” Darcy asked, when she emerged from the bathroom. He looked up, smiling. She looked pink-cheeked in her fluffy white robe.

“Very well,” he said. “You’re getting extra vacation to spend time with me in Berlin.”

“Yay!” she said, clapping. 

“Get in bed,” he said in a warm voice.

“Ooooohhhhhh,” Darcy said. “What if you have to catch me?” He scoffed, standing up.

“That’s how you wanna play this?” he teased.

“Yes---ahhhh!” Darcy said, as he grabbed and hoisted her over one shoulder. “How are you this strong?” 

“I work on my fitness,” he said mildly, patting her ass. They were in bed when he confessed the one piece of bad news. “I have to leave tomorrow night, but I want you to enjoy the last day of the trip, all right? I’l get somebody to meet you at the airport.” Her face fell slightly, but then she put on a smile again.

“I understand,” Darcy said. “It’s okay, don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” She gave him what he thought was a hopeful, tender look.

“I know I will be, but you’re going to be pretty exhausted by tomorrow night, sweetheart,” he joked. She burst out laughing.

“Do your worst,” she said, kissing him. He tried to keep going for as long as possible, kissing her, touching her, fucking her. He wanted it to last, for the night to go on. But his eagerness got the better of him. He couldn’t slow down when she was so present, so alive with him. When they made eye contact, her expression was rapt. “I love you,” she stuttered out as he moved recklessly. That was enough. When they collapsed together in a sweaty heap, he grinned and kissed her forehead.

“I don’t think that was exactly my worst work, but it wasn’t my fucking best, either,” Brock said. Darcy started to giggle.

“On the contrary, I think you’ve been at your fucking best on this trip,” she said, scratching his scalp gently. “Very high quality sexual experience. Do I get to fill out a comment card?”

“You get to roll over,” he said. “On your side. We’re fooling around some more.”

“Oh, free gift!” she said. She laughed giddily as he put his hand between her thighs. He liked hearing her make those soft, urgent little noises, too. He kissed her shoulders and she rocked instinctively against him, moaning.

But she was quieter the next day. They did the last of their touristy things--people watching at a café, the Left Bank, and a few landmarks--Napoleon’s tomb was the weird highlight. “So, he’s buried in multiple coffins?” Brock said, leaning over the railing. You looked down onto the tomb below. “One inside the other, not bits of him in different places?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, laughing and then going sad. “God, I’m going to miss you.” She threw herself into his arms.

“What brought this on?” he asked.

“No one will ask me funny questions about Napoleon’s dead body,” she sniffled. "It'll be so boring."

“I thought you’d miss the sex?” he said mildly. That made her cry more. He decided she needed Angelina’s again. He plied her with hot chocolate. She perked up slightly, trying to be cheerful and optimistic for him. “You’re too good for me,” Brock told her.

"Really? Because I feel pretty lousy, crying on you like this," she said.

"I like knowing I'll be missed," he said. He tried to check his watch without her seeing, but she caught him and put down her Saint-Honoré pastry. Her expression went determined.

“I’m going to go with you to the airport because we need to make out in the cab,” she said. “No arguments.”

“Well, if you’ve gotta,” he said, smirking. “I yield.” He held his hands up in surrender.

"Okay," Darcy said.

"Finish your drinking chocolate, princess," he teased.

Her goodbye kisses tasted faintly of cocoa and the salt from her tears.

***

_ Several weeks later _

Berlin, Germany

Joint Counter Terrorism Center

Brock was leaving a session on Emerging Threats and Non-State Actors when Everett Ross called his name. “Rumlow!” he said, waving urgently from across the tactical analytics floor. Brock sighed and glanced at his watch. It was eleven-forty-eight and he had somewhere to be at noon. Still, he waited patiently for Ross and his female Wakandan attaché, a woman named Anwulika Achebe, to join him. Brock wondered about Achebe. She moved well, unlike most political aides. He guessed she might have some sort of dance or martial arts training, but she didn’t engage in much conversation. Ross seemed a little intimidated by her, if he was honest. 

“Yes, Ross?” he said politely. He nodded at the woman; she nodded back.

“It’s Hank Pym,” Ross sighed, gesturing with his SHIELD phone. “I was supposed to run point on this miniaturization project--”

“But he’s giving you trouble?” Brock suggested. 

“God, yes. He’s impossible,” Ross said. Behind him, Achebe’s expression was determinedly blank. “He keeps calling and yelling every ten minutes about a different part of the project. I had to make a flowchart for all the complaints. It’s everything from the facilities to his trip here next year.” Brock nodded. “Do you think you could do anything with him?” Ross asked.

“Me?” Brock said, laughing. He touched his chest in derision. “Hank Pym can’t stand me.”

“Then why did he ask for you?” Ross said, frowning. “Is it a trick?”

“He did?” Brock said. “Huh.”

“He’s manipulating me, isn’t he?” Ross fretted. 

“I’ll call him,” Brock said. “But I have somewhere to be at noon.” He moved to walk away, towards his office.

“All right,” Ross said. “What should I tell Pym if he calls, he’s been calling--” Suddenly, Ross’s phone began to ring.

“He is calling now,” Achebe said, pointing to the phone in Everett’s hand.

“Shit,” Ross said.

“Tell him that I’ll call him, but I had to go,” Brock said.

“You have to go?” Ross said, sounding vaguely desperate.

“Tell Pym that the gigolo has to give his favorite VIP a wake up call,” Brock said. “He’ll understand.”

“The gigolo has to--what?” Ross said, as Brock ducked into his office. The click of the door lock was audible.

“Give Pym’s favorite VIP a wake up call,” Achebe said.

“This has to be some sort of bizarre SHIELD code. Sometimes, I cannot believe my life,” Ross said.

“I cannot, either,” Achebe said, grinning briefly before her face resumed its normally cool expression.

“Hello, Mr. Pym? This is Everett Ross. He’s not available--he wanted me to send you a message and say he’d call you later--_ the gigolo has to give your favorite VIP a wake up call,” _Ross said slowly, in an uncertain voice. “Oh, all right. You understood--?” he began, then stopped and looked at his phone. It beeped to indicate the end of the call. “He understood that and then he hung up on me,” Ross said.

“Perhaps we should get lunch?” Achebe offered.

“Good idea,” he said. “You have good ideas.”

“I know.”

  
  


In his office, Brock took a protein bar out of a desk drawer and pulled up a secure video call. Sometimes, he had to call twice. It was six am there and she had trouble with oversleeping. When the screen when from blank to fuzzy, he smiled. “Hey, sweetheart, you awake?” The pixels smoothed out and he saw she’d put her tablet on the other pillow.

“Heyyy,” Darcy said. “Good morning.” She patted her hair. “I keep meaning to get up and do something with myself, you only see me with pillow marks on my face.” He laughed.

“No, sweetheart,” Brock said. He took a bite out of the protein bar and then leaned forward. Something had appeared on the screen behind her head. “Darcy, what’s moving back there?” he said, alarmed.

“That’s Mr. Fluffles!” she said. “He appeared. I didn’t know if he would be scared by your voice. I’m pet-sitting for Maria and Sharon,” she explained, scratching the cat.

“They have a cat named Mr. Fluffles?” Brock said.

“Apparently, Maria calls him Mr. Bastard,” Darcy said.

“Sounds like Hill,” Brock said. She was keeping the cat for five days. They talked about his plans for the day. He described his work in general terms; it was too boring to bother with. He wanted to know what she’d been reading. They shared an ebook account now, so he could read things she was reading when he had free time at night. Between that and the gyms he’d joined, he stayed busy and that kept him from wallowing. “Tell me about this chocolate book?” he said. He’d seen it on her reading list.

“Oh, oh, this is fascinating,” Darcy said. “Did you know Hershey’s flopped in England? And maybe the reason they taste like Hershey’s is maybe curdled milk? Like, that’s the rumor. Hershey’s denies this,” Darcy said animatedly.

“But they failed in England?” Brock said, trying to remember the exact flavor of a Hershey’s bar. He’d probably had one in the early nineties?

“Yes,” Darcy said, getting up and carrying the tablet into the kitchen. He was given a generous view of her boobs bouncing under her nightshirt and smirked. “The British were not having it. That is why they have Cadbury’s and those egg thingies.”

“Egg thingies?” he said, as she set it on the counter to make coffee.

“From the commercials with the bunny?” Darcy said, yawning. “I think I’d like to revisit that at our next chocolate tasting.” 

“Uh-huh,” he said. “I’m making a note.”

“You’re so great. Also, I’m doing all the girl stuff that would bore you. Mr. Fluffles and I are going to rewatch both versions of _ Pride and Prejudice _after you fall asleep and stuff, we talked about it already--”

“You and him talked about it?” Brock said wryly.

“He apparently really likes the soundtrack to the Keira Knightley one,” Darcy said. “Sharon told me they play it during the day and he doesn’t knock things off the counter, I swear. Also, I’m learning how to give him kitty massage, I watched this Youtube where the woman teaches you how to do this pet massage thing they call kneading biscuits--why are you laughing?”

“It’s the phrase kitty massage,” he said, smirking. “Can we talk about that some more? You massaging your kitty?”

“Excuse me, you’re the one who said no dirty talk during the morning call at work,” Darcy objected. “You complained about meeting boners last week!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he said, laughing. “But I don’t think I fucking said boner.”

“I wonder what the German phrase for boner is? I feel like it would be something flowery like _ ‘zee fantastic erection, nein _’?” Darcy said, doing a phony German accent. 

“We’ll, uh, table that until your next visit,” Brock said. 

“You just wait until I knead biscuits on you,” she threatened. 

“Don’t tease me,” Brock said. “I’ve got at least two weeks until you get here.”

“Yup,” Darcy said. “In the interim, I will be taking care of our godchild.”

“Who?” 

“Mr Fluffles!” Darcy said. “I told Sharon we’d be responsible for him if she and Maria got stuck in, like, Bolivian prison. Or space.”

“I’m Mr. Fluffles’s godfather?” Brock said dimly.

“Well, you and Jack.”

“Jack?”

“I’ve been doing Brando for Jack, too. _ One day, not today, I may ask you for a favor for our friend Mr. Fluffles. Could be a big favor, eh, maybe a little favor,” _ Darcy said, doing an atrocious impression.

“That’s your Brando?” Brock said. “That’s your Brando?”

“You said that twice,” she said.

“I felt I needed to,” Brock said, smirking. “God, sweetheart, that was terrible.”

“Wait, lemme put an orange peel in my mouth, see if that’s better?” Darcy said. "Oh, I forgot to tell you! Your Crossbones is coming tomorrow, she took extra time with the hair."

"Exciting news," he said, grinning.

"I made her do some editing. First draft of the hair was no bueno. All wrong. You have great hair. I paid a little extra, I hope you don't mind--"

"That's fine, honey."

"Also, I used your credit card like Culver Food Bucks and got fancy Irish butter and this sliced brioche from Trader Joe's, so my French toast has really improved. Jack says it has," Darcy told him.

"He's eating my French toast?" Brock grumbled. 

"Don't be jelly, we're buddies now!" Darcy said. "We brunch."

"He thought you were a gold digger and the moment my back is turned, he eats my French toast like a thief," Brock said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Soooooo, I'm marking this as completed for now because it feels like a good spot, but who knows if I'll dip back into this 'verse again sometime? Could we get a six-months later epilogue where Brock introduces Darcy to his mother? Maybeeeeee. A series of funny shorts? Once my cold-addled brain has returned to normal, I might actually have good ideas for that, lol.


End file.
